A Bunch of Hot Air
by McGinnis INC
Summary: "I don't love you either," he replied. "Good," she relaxed, "just so we've gotten that out of the way." Because sometimes falling into another realm isn't half as fun as you'd think it would be. EzioxOc
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Hey, all! Welcome! Have fun, enjoy yourselves, leave a note if you like but please take your shoes off before you enter, I just cleaned the floor.**

**Yes, I've renovated a bit just because I know how absolutely annoying it is when the first few chapters of a story are like, miniscule in length and you assume they'll all be that size and so you leave. So, please don't leave, these chapters are long. And fun. And realistic. (Yes, I'm a realistic writer… if you expect love and fluff out the whoo-ha, go elsewhere. I can suggest a great many stories).**

**ALSO! Please don't be put off by Margherita's inability to converse, it's all part of my master plan to create a realistic plot. And it's a challenge to write. And I need challenges.**

_**Full Summary:**_

_**She couldn't stop the words that came from her mouth as she reached the realization that, "I don't love you."**_

_**Ezio blinked, frowned and then said, "I don't love you either."**_

_**"But we're still friends, right?"**_

_**"Why wouldn't we be?"**_

_**Sighing, she relaxed against him again, "Good, just so we've gotten that out of the way."**_

_**He chuckled and the vibrations radiated throughout her body as well, "Were you worried I thought of this as something more?"**_

_**"No. I know the way you think. This was a stress and tension relieving exercise in your opinion. I was worried you'd think I thought of this as something more. But I don't…" she sighed into his skin, relishing the sight as goose pimples rose to the surface of his neck as her breath caressed it. "That was definitely an inventive way to release tension. Remind me to do it again sometime, would you?"**_

_**"I certainly intend to remind you as often as I can."**_

**ENJOY!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

"Signore Alberti's taking a long time…" Ezio drawled, his foot tapping softly.

"Patience is something to be admired," Federico responded. His little brother reacted by crossing his arms across his chest and increasing the frequency of his tapping.

When their father had said he needed a favor, it was assumed this would be a short adventure. Simply drop off the letter and the box and leave. But both siblings had long since come to the conclusion that this was not a normal errand. For one, Giovanni had been extremely serious as he had handed Federico the letter and Ezio the box. For another, the mere fact that both sons had been called upon was enough to convince them that this task was not to be taken lightly. Now however, it seemed that their services were being used for such a mundane task as delivering a few items. And they had been kept waiting for long enough.

Softly, footsteps drifted in from another part of the room, snaking around the house until it reached the ears of the young Auditores.

"Ah!" Federico pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, "There we go." Ezio uncrossed his arms and stooped to grab the box, huffing a soft, "Finally."

The man servant who had arrived paused in front of them before bowing slightly to the young nobles. "One moment please," the man said, "Signore Alberti is still quite busy, but he is doing the best he can. He will see you soon," and then bowed once more before slinking out of the room.

"Not again," Ezio groaned. Even Federico, the less temperamental of the two, sighed. Ezio was beginning to place the box back on the floor when his brother suddenly took off walking towards one of the many hallways. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Ezio asked as he trailed after him. "Signore Alberti is not going to like being interrupted, brother!"

"I'm not looking for Signore Alberti. If we're going to be forced to wait, I think some entertainment is welcomed." He made a sharp turn into a room that was far less lavish than the rest of the house, a bare kitchen with two young ladies bustling about. From their dress and lack of jewels, it was obvious that the two were servants. And from the food set before them and the tools in their hands, the fact that they were preparing dinner was made clear.

Federico came up behind one of the women, a tall brunette with shapely curves that Ezio let his eyes flicker over appreciatively. Ah, yes, this must be the illustrious Sandra he had been hearing so much about from his brother. Too bad, he would have loved a go at her, she was very pretty. When Federico snaked his arms around her waist she yelped and grasped his wrists.

"Oh! Federico!" Sandra exclaimed as she twisted in his grasp and caught sight of his face. She blushed sweetly and turned completely around to place a kiss on his lips.

Ezio quickly diverted his attention to allow the couple some semblance of privacy. In glancing away, his eyes fell on the other girl who had since gone back to slicing vegetables. _Hm._ He thought as he swaggered to lean on the counter beside her, _Entertainment, indeed._ Placing the box on the counter, he waited for her attention to focus on him. She didn't seem to notice him at first, just continued to slice and dice. When she pushed the shredded carrots to the corner of the cutting board, she finally seemed to notice the man beside her. She glanced up and upon seeing his face she smiled.

"Hello," she said, pausing her work for a moment.

Ezio inclined his head, "Hello, beautiful." He gestured to the vegetables, "Are you cooking for Signore Alberti?"

"Yes." Upon noticing that she had stopped, she quickly began to return her focus back onto the task in front of her.

"Ah, so you are a servant here…" He leaned slightly closer.

"Yes." She glanced back up at him and he slowly leaned even closer brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. His finger lingered on her cheek for a moment longer.

"And what is your name, beautiful?" He continued to stare straight into her blue eyes, mentally commenting on their rarity amid the usual brown.

"Yes," she whispered, almost like she was afraid to speak too loudly.

Ezio blinked. And then blinked again. Suddenly a burst of laughter sounded from behind him and he twisted to glare at his brother, "What?"

Federico has since come up for air and simply stood with an arm around the Sandra's waist. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded towards the girl who stood beside Ezio, "She doesn't speak Italian," he smirked, "I do believe the only words she knows are "hello", "yes", and "no"."

Suddenly she turned and smiled at Federico. "Ton frère est très bête, Federico." (Your brother is very stupid, Federico.)

This only caused Federico to chuckle and nod, "Oui, je sais. Ca va, Margherita?" (Yes, I know. How are you, Margherita?)

Setting down the knife, she leaned against the counter and replied, "Bien. Et tu?" (Well. And you?)

"Comme ci, comme ca. Nous attendons pour Monsieur Alberti." (So-so. We are waiting for Signore Alberti.)

Ezio quickly became frustrated with his ignorance as to what his brother and the girl were saying. He could recognize the dialect- it was obvious that they were speaking French, but that was as far as his knowledge went… It wasn't his fault that he would rather learn the language of romance and not the so-called language of love as his brother had. But despite her quick responses, she still spoke with a hesitance that showed that even French was not her native language. But if she wasn't Italian or French, what was she?

"Brother, I don't feel included. Humor your ignorant brother," Ezio all but whined.

Federico responded by turning to the girl, "Margherita, voici mon petit frère, Ezio." He turned to Ezio, "This is Margherita."

Living up to his reputation as a lover of the ladies, Ezio stepped forward and grasped her hand. He brought it to his lips softly, his eyes never leaving hers. He could tell she was slightly uncomfortable, but whether it was from his lips trailing over her knuckles or the intensity of his gaze, he couldn't tell. Regardless, it gave him some pleasure to see her squirm just as he had been while she and his brother conversed. Even from the small contact, he could feel her body shiver, the small trembles flowing down into the very tips of her finger and he mentally smirked at the effect he had on her.

The girl opened her mouth to respond when suddenly the man servant who had previously come to collect them entered the room and glanced at Ezio's display with obvious displeasure. He cleared his throat and Ezio slowly straightened back up, though he made no move to release her hand. "The Signore will see you now." And then he left the room.

Federico kissed his own beloved goodbye and then turned to Margherita, "Au revoir,"

Margherita nodded and repeated his goodbye before turning her attention to Ezio. She glanced down at her hand still enclosed in his before looking back up into his eyes and smiling, "Enchante, Ezio."

He stooped again to place one more kiss on her knuckles before he all but purred, "Mademoiselle…"

With one last smile, full of promises he would probably fulfill to the fullest, Ezio released her, picked up the box from the counter and followed his brother out the door. He paused in the hallway to glance back, only to frown and find that he was rather dejected when he realized Margherita had already turned back to her work. Usually the women he charmed would trail after him with their eyes, especially the women so moved that they would tremble.

_Hm. Entertainment indeed._

* * *

"Well, I think father lied," Ezio commented as they exited the house. "That was not difficult in the least bit. I was expecting a challenge."

"Father never said it was going to be difficult, maybe he just wanted the two of us out of the house. You really shouldn't make assumptions." Federico paused for a moment and changed the topic suddenly, "And you really shouldn't flirt so much. Especially with girls who can't understand anything you say."

Ezio groaned, "Brother, you are certainly one to lecture me!"

"I am not half as bad as you are."

Ezio snorted in response, "It was you who taught me everything I know."

"Yes, but I have since settled down," Federico countered.

His younger brother gave a small chuckle, "Oh, yes, the lovely Sandra. I noticed that you did not introduce us, yet she has been all you could speak of for the past two months. Today was a perfect opportunity, yet instead you thrust me at the other girl…. Hm."

"I would rather you charm the unattached young lady and not the woman I am falling in love with."

"Oh, so it's the competition you are afraid of?" Ezio barely had time to duck to evade the backhand Federico threw at him. He avoided it nonetheless and the siblings broke out laughing. They continued towards the family home in silence for a few moments before Ezio spoke again, "Do you know what her native tongue is?"

Federico seemed confused for a moment before he caught up to Ezio's thought process, "Ah, Margherita. Hm. I do believe she's from England. I've heard her speak English, and her lighter coloring is quite common among the Englishmen who visit this country."

"You've heard English spoken?" Ezio asked.

"Sandra's father was an Englishman. She's knows a great deal of the language."

"Hm." Federico would have continued but quickly realized that Ezio had since disappeared into his own mind and thoughts and probably would not return to the conscious world until they reached home. And so, the brothers continued their journey in silence.

* * *

Sandra continued stirring the pot, glancing at Margherita periodically in an attempt to catch her reaction to the visitors who had since left. It had been good to see her beloved, but after having recovered from the initial euphoria of speaking with him, her attention was diverted to the other girl. Ezio had a reputation that preceded him. Sure, Federico had also had a bit of a reputation, but slowly he began to grow more serious in relation to the women he associated with. That had been when Sandra had met him and a wonderful relationship had begun. But she certainly remembered his charms, the way he ensnared her and wooed her and how totally helpless she'd been to resist. And his little brother was even worse.

Ezio was known to woo and flirt and bed and sometimes the process was repeated, but more often than naught, he would just move onto another girl. Cristina Vespucci was one of the few girls he had returned to after having slept with her the first time, and as far as Sandra knew, they had yet to pause their relationship. She didn't want to see Margherita hurt.

So she decided to breach the conversation. Without looking at Margherita she asked, "Well, what did you think of Federico's younger brother?" She finally turned to look at the younger girl.

"Ezio?" she glanced up at the ceiling and bit her bottom lip. "He was quite charming."

Sandra nodded, "Yes, I have heard many girls say as much." The two returned to their work and the silence spread thickly between them. Sandra glanced back at the other girl.

When she had been introduced to Margherita Recci not three months ago, she had thought the girl was so odd. Despite speaking English, she had an accent that wasn't quite like the dialect of Sandra's father and when she spoke, the sentence structure was terribly informal.

Besides her speech, when Margherita arrived she had had creamy pale skin- nothing like the other servants who labored in the sun and developed a tan visage. Now that months had passed, her exposure to the sun had caused freckles to rise erratically on her cheeks and bare shoulders, in odd patterns and brown blotches, darkening her coloring. And she was able to read and write both French and English, a talent rare among the lower class.

Sandra immediately assumed the girl was an English noble. Or a princess, something of the sort, who had run away from her home land and found work in the Alberti household. It was a tragic story, Sandra supposed, until she had finally asked Margherita pointblank whether she was nobility. The younger girl had giggled, "No! No, no, no, my friend, I am a simple servant from a distant land who ended up in Italy."

And thus, her line of inquiry had ended abruptly. So this odd girl wasn't of royal descent- she was simply a little left of center.

Sandra was so lost in her thoughts she almost didn't hear Margherita ask, "So, he does that often? Flirts with girls he barely knows?"

The older of the two almost laughed at Margherita's question. So Ezio had made enough of an impression on her to make her slightly jealous of the other women he had charmed. "He has a reputation…" Sandra trailed off; she _really_ didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings.

"Then I suppose I should simply put him out of my mind." And with that, the subject of the young man and his flirtations was diminished in the Alberti household.

* * *

Two weeks later, Margherita sat down with a mild huff on the bed in the room she had been given upon entering the household as an employee. It was extremely difficult to communicate with everyone… Sandra, her sole friend and fulltime translator had been given the day off and had chosen to spend it with her beloved in the city. Thus, Margherita had been forced to use gestures to communicate everything. Almost every other minute she cursed her stupidity, but quite honestly she really shouldn't have been expected to know that it would have been wiser to take Italian in high school.

Had she known that touching that little golden ball would bring her here, would transport her back, and back in time and across, and across realms into a videogame she played mostly to kill time she would have taken the time to research what exactly she was getting herself into. She would have read books on the Italian Renaissance and taught herself how to speak Italian. She would have reviewed her biology, chemistry, and physics notes in an attempt to improve life here in the prison known as the "olden days".

But as it was, she wasn't given much warning. Blink, flash, and then she woke up on the filthy streets of Renaissance Italy confused as hell.

"_Yo! Peggy! You said you wanted to go camping! You said that this was our last chance to hang out before senior year, and there you are texting." Jen stood up and grabbed the phone out of Peggy's hands._

"_Hey!" Peggy stood and grasped for the phone, but Jen tossed it to Emily, who tossed it to Amanda and finally Peg just gave up. With an indignant huff, she yanked her blonde hair back into a messy ponytail. _

"_I got to go to the bathroom," Peggy announced and trekked out of the designated campsite into the wilderness, deciding that cutting through the foliage would be a faster route to the outhouse than the road. Upon reaching a satisfying distance from the group, she gave a loud sigh. Camping was not her thing. Jen had wanted to experience the wilderness and Peg really didn't care either way, she just wanted to hang out with her friends one last time. Her class load next year didn't promise much free time. _

_Cable television, internet, xbox360, books; any one of these things and Peg was content. Here, all these things were taken from her. It was not an enjoyable experience. Yes, perhaps she was spoiled, but really, she was only seventeen. She let her mother cook her food and clean up the house and she pestered her father for money and she was quite content. She flirted with the boys in her class and had been called a tease by her friends. She was a twenty-first century material girl and quite frankly, she would grow up when she needed to. For now, she fully intended to enjoy her life._

_Suddenly her foot made contact with something hard and she stumbled to the ground. "Shit!" she exclaimed as she caught herself with her hands and knees, scraping her palms but at least sparing her legs because of her jeans. "What the-?" She blinked. Was that a gold beach ball? _No, no_, she realized as she crawled closer, stretching to get a better look at the ball._

No,

_her fingers reached out to it,_

this is,

_the pads of her fingers touched the object, _

a Piece of Eden.

_It was a mistake, she realized later. She shouldn't have blinked. It was a mistake to blink. That second needed for her eyes to close and open and suddenly everything was white. Time stopped, sped up, stopped, and then reversed. And reversed. And apparently reversed all the way to the 1400's. _

_When she opened her eyes again she was met with an old man, long white hair the hung from the sides of his head, clear brown eyes, and an easy smile. He said something in a language she didn't understand. At her confusion, the language changed. Latin, she realized… not that she understood what he was saying. And finally he switched to French. Thankfully, Peg had just returned from a two week school trip to France and so her French was still at its prime. _

_He asked her where she was from. At the time she still hadn't quite realized what was going on and responded, "Je suis de Les Etats Unis." (I am from the United States.)_

_It became quite obvious he hadn't the slightest clue what she was talking about. Instead, he introduced himself as Andrea Recci, and he took her to his house and fed her. The modern clothes, a t-shirt and jeans, she was wearing only caused more confusion. She found out he was a widower and he kindly let her have one of his wife's old dresses. It was too tight in the bust and far too loose in the waist and the sleeves engulfed her hands, but she was grateful nonetheless. _

_She stayed with him for two days before he didn't wake up one morning. She found his cold body and panicked. Andrea had been good to her- nice to her. And so, when she looked back, she regretted her next actions. In fear, she stumbled about the house, preparing to flee, before she remembered his secret stash of funds. He would no longer need it, yes? And he had no relations… So, she grabbed all the money from his secret hiding spot and fled. _

_She wandered the streets of Firenze until she stumbled upon the market and overheard a servant mentioning to a cashier the name of Alberti. Alberti, Alberti. She knew that name. It was the name of the first man Ezio Auditore de Firenze assassinates. _

Wait,_ she thought, _that's not possible… was- I don't remember if he was a real person or not. But- that was definitely a Piece of Eden. And if Alberti exists, and the Piece of Eden exists, then-then- Ezio. Ezio exists here as well. The assassins exist… and so do the Templars.

_She quickly caught up to the servant, a young man who was struggling with the amount of bags in his hands. "Sir! Sir!" He turned but hadn't a clue what she was saying. "Um…" She gestured to the bags he was struggling with. After several failed attempts at miming her desire (at one time she was certain he believe she was trying to rob him of his goods), he finally realized she was offering assistance. Hesitantly he transferred some of his bags into her waiting arms and she followed him to the Alberti household._

_Upon arriving the mistress of the house greeted her and asked what she had needed. Still not used to the language barrier, Peg began to reply in English that she didn't understand what the mistress was saying. Luckily, the mistress knew the sound of the English language and called for another girl, just a few years older than Peg to translate. _

_Peg lied through her teeth and explained that there had been a mistake during her voyage, where she was supposed to end up in France, but instead arrived in Italy, and had no way to contact her family in England because her purse had been stolen by a pickpocket and would the mistress please be kind enough to allow Peg to work for the family- whatever they needed- so that she could earn money enough to travel back to her family. The mistress was sympathetic and finally asked for her name._

_Peggy O'Connor, she realized, was far too modern a name to fit into this time period. Thinking on her feet she blurted out the name she used in French class- Marguerite- and Andrea's last name- Recci. The mistress instead addressed Peg as Margherita, something she could only assume to be the Italian variant form of Marguerite. _

_It was not until about two weeks working for the Alberti household that Peg realized her mistake- something neither she nor anyone she had met had noticed. Why would an Englishwoman have a French given name and an Italian surname? This in itself poked many holes in her story. But, no one had noticed and despite having earned enough to in fact buy a ticket to England (assuming she wanted to… which she didn't) she continued to serve the Alberti family as a chef and a maid. _

_The first few weeks had been terrible – cooking here was so different in comparison to modern times. There were things she had taken for granted: indoor plumbing, refrigerators, microwaves, gas ovens, lamps. But slowly, she learned the basics of cooking and cleaning and living in a new world. She had spent two weeks in modern France, and had spent years learning the language and she thought _that_ was difficult. Sandra tried to teach her the language, and there were phrases she could understand and repeat, but her Italian was still minimal. _

_She was stuck and quite frankly, her best bet of returning was to follow the progression of the game- follow Ezio and hope to God there was a way back. She worried often, whether she was stuck here for good, whether time in her realm continued and her family worried about her. But, eventually a routine developed and it was no longer a concern that plagued her waking thoughts. Instead she fell into the monotony of a servant's life. _

Before Margherita had a chance to sit down and rub her aching feet (Jesus, she could use a pedicure), a loud bang issued from the downstairs. Margherita slowly retraced her steps back to the doorway of the room she shared with Sandra and quietly made her way downstairs. A rotund man with a black hood pulled up to hide his face passed by her as she finally reached the last step. Signore Alberti saw her watching this new figure- Borgia, Margherita remembered, Rodrigo Borgia- and shooed her away.

As she began climbing back up the stairs she paused at the top. If _he_ was here, did that mean- no. _No, no, no,_ thought Margherita suddenly hysterical at the realization, _Not so soon! That means the Auditore family will- oh no._

Crouching by the railing she could just see the two men, Signore Alberti and Borgia talking. They had left the door to the study opened slightly and their forms flickered as they paced within. Papers were shuffled back and forth and suddenly the door was shut.

_Shit!_ Margherita exclaimed as she slinked back down. If she was caught, she didn't know what Signore Alberti would do. Could she risk it? Halfway down the staircase she paused. What did it matter if she knew what they were talking about? She knew how the story ended…. Besides, she wouldn't be able to understand anything, anyways.

But, but what if she could change it? What if she could save Federico and Ezio and their father and their little brother? Surely it was possible? Perhaps she'd be able to figure out from their gestures or tone what it was that they were talking about, despite her inability to understand Italian? And what harm would it do, really? Just as she began her quiet descent again a traitorous thought entered her mind.

….It could harm her.

Goodness only knows what could happen if she disrupted the sequence of events here… she might never get home.

And so she stood, hand clutching the handrail….. Home. That was her main objective. Nothing else mattered. They were destined to die anyway, weren't they?

And a little part of her screamed and shouted and cried and finally laid down and died as Margherita let selfishness win and she turned and returned to her room for the night.

The next morning there was no sign of Borgia. Margherita snooped and even asked Sandra if she had seen anything when she had been sneaking in last night (or, perhaps, more appropriately, this morning), but alas, it seemed the meeting had ended late into the night and every sign that Rodrigo Borgia had ever been there was erased.

When the two girls got into the kitchen to begin preparing for breakfast, the mistress informed Sandra, who then informed Margherita, that the younger girl was expected to go into the market today to do the shopping. And thus, after the morning meal was prepared and presented and cleaned up, Margherita took her leave.

Public was not something she enjoyed, especially considering just how vulnerable she was since she couldn't understand anything anyone said. Sandra had been kind enough to teach her little words, numbers and phrases to get by in the market place, but she still feared being taken advantage of. But the main reason she avoided going out into the market, into the public, was that (perhaps she was just really shallow….) she still wore the old dress Andrea Recci had given her, and it still fit just as terribly. With her figure so unflattered, and her face lacking any semblance of makeup (meaning the little acne she would get on her chin and forehead was uncovered), her confidence took a severe nosedive. Oh yes, she was definitely a teenage girl from the twenty-first century.

She almost paused upon reaching the vast amount of people crowded in the streets. She sighed and continued forward. By the end of the hour, her hands were filled with groceries that kept slipping from her grasp, but she was determined to get back to the Alberti household without dropping anything.

Margherita had just turned the corner onto a less crowded street, focused on balancing the products when one of the bags was rudely pulled from her grasp.

"Hey!" she twisted and tried to pull it back, mostly succeeding in dropping the other bags… but quite honestly, like hell she was going to let some thief steal from her. She cocked a fist with the intent of bashing the idiots head in when he grasped her wrist and pulled her closer.

She blinked and suddenly she was looking in the honey eyes of a vaguely familiar face. _Those video games don't truly do him justice, _she thought distantly.

Ezio smiled a Cheshire grin and greeted her and began speaking in a language she couldn't understand. She nodded softly, not entirely sure what he was saying. She quickly figured it out when he bent and scooped up all the bags she had been carrying in one hand. He still didn't release her wrist though, instead adjusting his grip to her hand. And thus, they continued toward the Alberti household.

She should pull away. She knew she should pull her hand from his; she might mess everything up, or lose herself in the madness of infatuation. She might actually fall so deeply she wouldn't want to leave. And suddenly, she told herself to shut up. They had just met, and home was always where her heart would be.

Margherita glanced over to see him looking at her. To her horror, a blush rose on her cheeks. Curse her fair skin. Finally he spoke, "Tu est très jolie, Mademoiselle." (You are very pretty, Miss).

His pronunciation was also perfect, she noted. He must have asked his brother to teach him and he had been practicing. Glancing away, she avoided his prying eyes before she looked back and noticed he hadn't averted his gaze yet. This only increased the color on her cheeks and she finally inclined her head and softly said, "Merci." (Thank you.)

She figured he knew that word at least. And so they continued on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: ****So, I've finally fleshed out an updating contract with myself – a week or 100 views for the most recent chapter… whichever comes last. Yay.**

**Also, a note about the time progression of the story: I'm basing the timeline off of how much time lapses as described on the Assassin's Creed Wiki. Which is sometimes really weird. For example, it apparently took Leonardo and Ezio a **_**whole year**_** to get from Firenze to Venezia. Sooo, yeah. That's just the way the cookie crumbles. Any questions, feel free to ask!**

**ALSO! I know it may seem like the relationship between Ezio and Margherita was going way too fast. The thing is, Ezio is a terrible playboy and Margherita is a typical American, teenage girl. Hopefully this chapter manages to convince you that they aren't going to pull a Twilight-like "Omg, spend the entire plot deeply in love, battling the world so that we can stay together!" Trust me, you'll eventually want to shoot me for all the sexual tension but very little action. Until the action comes… but the love does not…and then the love comes… wow, this is going by pretty damn quickly…..**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

**

* * *

**

When they reached the house, Ezio followed Margherita into the pantry and assisted her in putting everything away, all silently. She didn't really mind that no words were used, but really, there wasn't much to say and even if there was, neither would have been able to communicate it to the other.

Just as they finished she noticed his gaze on her. She was expecting that he would do the gentlemanly thing again and kiss her hand (and she would swoon, just like last time, because he was positively gentle) and then say a soft "Au revoir" and leave.

Instead, he advanced towards her, a slow stride closer to her. She backed away, but didn't reject his attention. It was… pleasant and quite flattering. When her back reached the wall, Ezio crept so close his chest brushed against hers. He glanced down almost appreciatively at the cleavage exposed by the ill-fitting dress and Margherita was suddenly grateful for the overly tight bodice that pushed her breasts up and together, giving her more attractive cleavage.

Then his eyes met hers and he leaned closer, and closer, placing his hands on either side of her head. She was trapped, and a little afraid, but it was a good fear- exciting and beautiful. She knew he was going to kiss her. As she recalled, Ezio was very free with his affections and a foreign girl who was able and willing was just the distraction he liked. She'd let him kiss her. Maybe she'd even kiss back.

And suddenly there was a muffled gasp. Ezio turned his head, but did not put any distance between him and the sweetly trapped girl.

"Margherita?" Ah, it was Sandra. And this was quite a compromising position. Caught and in a mild panic, Margherita ducked under one of his arms and almost stumbled to the other side of the room. Suddenly she felt a mild sense of shame. She was usually one to flirt with many, but always avoided the Casanovas, knowing they would use and then leave her. Being caught having reciprocated Ezio's attention, (especially after having told Sandra she had no intention of doing so) was rather embarrassing.

"Hello, Sandra. Perhaps you could show Signore Auditore out?" Margherita hinted in an attempt to escape, and then departed the room without a glance back.

Sandra came to find her later, scrubbing the floor of the main room. "I thought you were going to banish any thought of him…"

Margherita glanced up from the floor and scrunched her nose at the other girl, "That was before he kindly escorted me from the marketplace."

Giving a little chuckle, the elder girl left the room shaking her head. Yes, Margherita really shouldn't have let him get that close, and next time, she wouldn't.

* * *

Two days passed before everything changed. Margherita was just returning when a group of men shoved past her and stalked all the way to the street. She glanced into the house and witnessed a sight that nearly knocked her right off her feet- Borgia was back, standing in the main room sharing a drink with Signore Alberti. Her mind quickly put the pieces together. Those- those were Alberti's men and based on their path they were heading in the direction of the Auditore household. Meaning the cards had fallen and Giovanni, Federico, and Petruccio Auditore were about to be captured and tomorrow they would be killed.

Her head spun and she nearly fell to the floor. At the last second she caught herself but was still unable to slow her heartbeat. _Sweet Lord, I need to do something. I- there has got to be something. Something I can do! _Without really thinking it thru her feet took off, following the direction of the guards. _I can warn them!_

With each step she took, the more logical part of her brain informed (shouted at) her that this was stupid. That there was nothing she _could_ do and that if she interfered she would end up even worse off. They were supposed to die. If they lived, that tiny change in the realm could rebound and affect everything else and then she's never get home. Despite this, she continued without pause. Consequences be damned. She had tried to prepare for this- for inaction in an attempt to preserve her own voyage back home, but she hadn't realized the guilt that would result. And now it was pressing against her chest heavily and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it wouldn't ease until she had helped these people, or at least tried to.

A sickening thought echoed in her head- what if she was too late? What if by not going to them, or at least Sandra, when she had first seen Borgia destiny had been set in stone and there was no way to free them? She pushed these pessimistic images out of her head as the Auditore house came into sight.

Just as she broke through the gate, she saw three struggling figures that were being dragged through the door. Margherita threw herself behind a pillar, breathing deeply, but trying to silence herself. Now that she was here, she quickly realized how futile this was. She had no training! In fact, in self-defense class in gym she had once hit _herself_ in the face; there was no way she could take all those guys on and she knew Ezio was long gone, off running errands. She was no knight-in-shining-armor. She was a girl barely edging out of teenage years who was lost. Terribly lost. When the guards dragged the prisoners (one of which she recognized to be Federico) out past the gate she almost began to follow them, thinking perhaps she could intercept them (somehow) in the streets. Then screams started echoing from in the house.

There had been eight men who had left the Alberti household, she mentally counted, but only five had just passed her. There were still men in the house- and if memory served her, Ezio's mother had resisted, and, and, and-

Margherita took off. She stumbled right into the house to find a guard each holding back two women – Claudia Auditore and that one servant- while another had Maria Auditore on the floor. Her skirt was being pulled up to her waist and the guard on top of her was struggling with her undergarments. No one had noticed her as of yet so Margherita did the first thing that came to mind: she grabbed a vase and smashed it over the guards head. She barely had time to mentally comment on how cliché such an action was before the man stood, snarling, and went after Margherita.

She twisted around to run, suddenly frightened and regretting even coming here. There was no way she would stand a chance against him, and her sense of self preservation won out. She was too slow however. The brute of a guard grabbed her by her loose hair and jerked her back. She gave a strangled cry and she fell onto her back with a loud "thump". He straddled her waist and pressed his lips against hers forcefully. Crying out against his mouth, she writhed and struggled against him. Tears formed in her eyes and her bodice was pulled down, exposing her chest, and a groping hand found its way up her skirt.

* * *

He kissed her goodbye. The bastard had the balls to kiss her goodbye after he had raped her and left her naked on the cold floor. Another guard had returned to tell them Alberti was expecting them back. So he'd finished and then knelt to place a kiss on her mouth. She didn't have the presence of mind to spit in his face, but wished she had as he left the room.

When they had all finally left, their footsteps finally echoing into the distance, the female servant gently sat down besides Margherita. She wiped her tears and then suddenly Claudia knelt as well, holding what Margherita could only assume to be one of the younger girls spare dresses. Once her sobs ceased the two young ladies helped her stand and dress herself in the dress that was actually too tight and short, but was still some semblance of armor to protect her violated form.

Margherita didn't know how long she stood in their arms, tears trailing down her face but standing stock-still. She was shaking and her knees wobbled, but the other girls stroked her back and whispered phrases in Italian that she didn't technically understand but they were words of comfort that were universal, that much she knew. And they did help. The sisterly comfort after such a horrific experience gave her the strength to break away from them, nod her thanks and leave.

They tried to stop her. They tried to halt her exit, but when Claudia grabbed her arm Margherita turned and shook her head, weakly, "Casa," (House,) she attempted to explain. She needed to get back to the Alberti household. That room was suffocating her and the smell of sex and that- that, (could he even be called a person? Even called a man?)- bastard were still lingering in the air and she couldn't breathe.

Claudia seemed to understand because she let Margherita go and bowed her head in appreciation. _Yes_, Margherita realized as she exited the house and continued towards the Alberti household, _had I not been here, it would have been Maria who would have been raped._

This was only a mild comfort and shame welled up inside of her when she realized that she secretly wished it had been Maria… God, she was a terrible person. To wish that on anyone… But wasn't she only human? Wasn't it only natural to try to avoid hurt? Even if it meant someone else would be forced to experience the pain instead?

The tears began again and her vision became blurry. She swiped at them with frustration, she needed to focus. She needed to ignore the anger and hurt in her heart and the ache throbbing at the apex of her thighs and get back to the Alberti household.

Margherita turned a corner and stopped in her tracks. There was Ezio walking back towards his house. He glanced at her as they passed and suddenly seemed to recognize her but she kept walking. And then, she could tell he noticed her tearstained face. Halting, he turned to grab her arm and suddenly it was too much. He was touching her and she simply didn't want to be touched so she broke his grasp and took off running. She could hear him following her, calling her name, but she dissolved into the crowd and lost him quickly.

She managed to sneak into the house with very little trouble. She worried that the guards would have told Signore Alberti that she had attacked them, but she passed Alberti in the hallway getting up to her room and he had nodded in acknowledgement. After bounding up the stairs, almost stumbling at the top step due to the heavy skirt on the new dress (and not really made easier by the extremely tight bodice), she found Sandra in their shared room.

The older girl was crying on her bed and when Margherita entered the room she rolled over and their eyes met. In that instant Margherita regretted having hesitated in taking action. The guilt, the violation, the sadness in her friend's eyes, it was too much. Suddenly she was across the room, in Sandra's arms and they were weeping together.

"They took him!" Sandra sobbed into her shoulder, "I saw them dragging all of them to the prison! And-and, Federico saw me and he tried to tell me- he said, "It's going to be okay", he said, "Don't worry, l-love" and one of the guards- they-they h-h-it him and told him to shut up…" she paused for a few moments and continued to cry before she began, "They say he's a traitor… that even the little boy, little Petruccio is a conspirator and that they are going to be e-e-x-xecuted!" she began screaming, "They are going to kill him!"

Margherita stroked at the girl's hair, trying to calm her down, "I know, babe. I know."

"What's going to happen? What are we going to do?"

There was something in her eyes- fear, anger, need to act- that sent a shiver down Margherita's spine. Do? As far as Margherita was concerned, they weren't going to _do_ anything. The last time she had interfered in this realm she had been violently raped. But the way the older girl trembled in her arms, the way her eyes were filled with such sadness… All Margherita wanted to do was fall asleep and wake up 600 hundred years later. She was hurting, she still hadn't recovered, she was still broken, but the roles seemed to be reversed and Sandra needed her help. And the guilt of inaction that had led to this current situation was still stirring in her heart.

"Um, they'll probably be imprisoned until the trial…"

Sandra shot up, "We can break them out!"

Margherita shook her head and said, "No, no, we need to get Ezio… Alberti is behind this," Sandra nodded, apparently she had realized this as well, so she continued, "Ezio will come to see Alberti, he need to warn him."

The older girl agreed and a plan was put into place.

* * *

Margherita sat in the dark waiting for Ezio to show up. The house had quieted down for the night but she knew that Borgia was still there, somewhere in the house. If she just waited by the door, acted as inconspicuous as possible, then when Ezio knocked on the door she could answered it and warn him not to give the documents to Alberti. Sandra had volunteered for the post because she would be able to actually communicate with Ezio, but the mistress had ordered her to clean the spare bedroom and she had not returned before nightfall. And so, Margherita was left sitting in the darkness trying to ignore her fear. If that man was still around- he was one of Alberti's men… he could still be on the grounds, in the house. She shuddered to think he could do it again, right here if he found her… or worse. What had happened to self preservation? Ha, what a joke.

A harsh rap at the door caught her attention immediately and she stood, almost flying to rip it open.

Ezio looked down at her with frightened eyes and she noticed he had already changed into his assassins robes. Once he realized who she was, he seemed puzzled, "Margherita-"

She cut him off, beginning in English and hoping that some bit of her message got through to him, "Ezio! Listen-"

"Oh! Ezio Auditore!" Margherita felt a hand on her shoulder, grasp her and almost fling her back into something solid. The solid structure turned out to be Rodrigo Borgia, who in turn grabbed her arm and pushed her behind him, even farther into the darkness then he already was. Signore Alberti began speaking with Ezio, and even though he tried to glance over the older man's shoulder, searching for her, Ezio eventually returned to the more pressing matters at hand.

Margherita slinked back and headed for the first open door she could find- the study. None of the three men noticed her absence, probably assumed she had returned to her quarters for the night. With luck, the two would leave off to another room and she could follow Ezio into the night – the study was the closest room to the front door.

Once Ezio left, Borgia and Signore Alberti entered the study, unfortunately and began speaking in quick Italian. From her hiding spot she watched Alberti pace back and forth while Borgia sunk into an armchair. She could see the smaller man shuffling through some papers, the documents and then finally Borgia stood up and bid Alberti a goodnight.

Then Margherita watched as Alberti walked past the fireplace and threw the papers in before stalking out of the room.

* * *

Now see, it must be understood… Margherita had never fancied herself a heroic person. If a rat scurried across the floor she was the first to jump on a table and scream, demanding someone kill it. If a bee flew too close to her, she'd run in the opposite direction, flailing. And thunderstorms kept her up at night while she trembled under the covers. Needles made her flinch and she passed out at the sight of blood. During chemistry she avoided being within a foot of the Bunsen burner because she hated fire. She was level headed and thought before she acted

And yet all of that flew out the window as the door clicked behind Alberti. Without a second thought besides, _those are the only thing that is going to save them!,_ she tripped over to the fireplace and reached her hand in to grab the crackling pages. Pain shot up her arm as her hand pulled the paper free and patted the fire out quickly, but was suddenly soothed as the embers cooled out. Once no more embers remained lit, she folded it and stuffed it into the bodice of Claudia's old dress.

With all deliberate haste she traveled back upstairs to wait in the darkness for Sandra, who returned just minutes after Margherita.

"I've got them," Margherita explained pulling them from her dress.

"Ezio gave them to you?"

She shook her head, "No, I wasn't able to warn him in time. He handed them over to Signore Alberti and then the Signore threw them into the fire."

Sandra nodded in understanding before her eyes trailed downwards. She blinked and then gasped, covering her mouth. "Margherita! Your hand!"

It was then that Margherita looked down. The area of her hand near her forefinger and thumb were unscathed, which was probably why she hadn't noticed it before, but the right side of the back of her right hand and the palm was covered in black, surrounded in sickly red and puckering pink. Third degree burns… the nerves were dead, that's why she couldn't feel it. But as she finally noticed it, the edges of the burns that had not been burned quite as badly and thus had feeling stung viciously.

And suddenly the grotesque sight caused a lightness in her head, forcing her to sit down. She focused on everything except fainting. Sandra came to sit beside her and inspected her hand gently.

"We need to get you to a doctor!" Margherita could only nod, slowly. Sandra stood and dragged the younger girl up by her uninjured arm. "We need to leave, now." Once again, Margherita nodded, told Sandra to grab the bag wedged under her mattress since she couldn't do it herself and the two exited the house with all the stealth they could muster.

Margherita felt faint, and cold, and knew the blood was draining from her head. Luckily, Sandra knew the residence of a doctor. After they frantically arrived, the older gentleman spread a salve over the open and puckering wounds before bandaging it. He asked nothing except for the fifty florins he had expected as payment. Sandra quickly apologized, having nothing with which to pay him, before Margherita grabbed the bag Sandra had taken and pulled the exact amount out. The bag didn't even feel any lighter afterwards and as they left Sandra looked inside the bag and gasped. She asked, "Where did you get all that money?"

"I found it." Margherita didn't elaborate, but in truth it was the money she had stolen the day she had fled Andrea Recci's house the day he died. Shame broke her heart, but she couldn't say she regretted the action now that the money had come in handy.

Stopping on a bench the two girls took a rest. Sandra broke the silence, "We need a plan."

Margherita sighed as she avoided looking at her bandaged hand. "The only one we can trust is Lorenzo Medici and he's away, I heard…"

"So who do we go to?"

Margherita was honestly at a loss…

There was a memory – the scene was hazy… perhaps a class? Yes, she could picture the teacher pacing back and forth at the front before turning to his pupils and distinctly saying, "Democracy is based around five main components. And all of them can be traced back to the people. Only with the consent of the public can a democracy work. When in doubt, the people will rule."

"The people," Margherita turned to Sandra, "We go to the people."

The older girl turned to look at a group of courtesans who were crowded on the corner, "And I know just how to get the people informed."

* * *

Ezio watched as she faded into the crowd. He had to honestly admit that he was extremely confused and slightly hurt. Her face, the tears had smeared her face and her nose had been bright red… and her eyes… they had been so dead. There was nothing more he had wanted to do than to grab her and rub her back, but she had run away and disappeared. She had essentially rejected his help and so he continued toward his house, pondering this girl.

Initially she had just been a little form of entertainment. She had been different from the other girls he had known- here in Firenze most of the girls had the darker hair and eyes and their skin was pure, unblemished olive. Women often attempted to bleach their hair into the golden yellow, but this girl had the color naturally. Margherita had the lightness of a foreigner- blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin that was a creamy pale in the places it wasn't freckled. Sure, he had tumbled with prettier girls. He had tumbled with all sorts of girls, and his current repeat offender- Cristina Vespucci- was stunning. In comparison, Margherita was quite plain, considering her mild acne and her freckles. He remembered looking down at her exposed chest… hm, perhaps not totally plain.

But the language barrier had been fascinating. The idea of a pretty foreigner who couldn't speak was quite sexy. Because they couldn't talk, Ezio knew the only type of relationship they could have and that was his favorite type- sex with no strings attached.

Ezio blinked. Yes, the girl had begun as entertainment, just like all of the other girls but somewhere between he had become intrigued by this girl. The mystery that surrounded her… the fact that he knew nothing about her and she continued to surprise him, that was what she had become. It was a rare occurrence for any woman to throw him off his game. And he honestly believed she didn't even try. After seeing her there in the street, shaken to the bone, he didn't think he had ever had so many questions, all surrounding this one girl.

It wasn't until he could see his house in the distance that he stopped his train of thought. There would be other days to ponder this girl, right now he needed to inform his father that his errands had been run and then he would probably go visit Cristina and put this Margherita out of his head.

Upon arriving at the gate something felt wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and every sense prickled. Instinct was sending fight or flight responses. Just as he entered the house, he called to his father and then to Federico. A moment later he heard the _whoosh_ of an object in motion, and sidestepped the attack.

"Signore Ezio! Thank God!" Ezio blinked, it was Annetta, he realized.

"Where are they? Where is everyone?" Ezio asked, stepping closer.

Annetta clasped her hands together, "They took your father and brothers! To prison!"

His father and brothers had been- what? Why? Another thought occurred to him, nearly smacking the wind out of his lungs, "My mother? My sister?"

A soft cry of, "Ezio!" erupted from behind a bookcase. Ezio immediately took off in the direction of the noise and found his little sister and his mother sitting hidden from sight.

"Claudia!" She stood and ran to him just as he made his way over to her. She threw her arms around him and he embraced her back. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, but… mother…" Claudia trailed off and Ezio finally got a good look at his mother. She stared off into the distance with absolutely no expression on her face.

"She's in shock," Annetta explained, "They- when she resisted…" She trailed off and Claudia continued,

"They tried, but… that girl, the one who works for the Alberti household, I don't know why she was here, but she showed up and she tried to stop them… so, so-"

"So they _took_ her instead," Annetta finished.

Ezio took a deep breath, trying to calm the beating in his brain. That was why- when they had passed on the street… her sadness. She had taken the place of his mother.

He finally got his thoughts together, "It's not safe here. Is there some place you can take them?"

Annetta hesitated, gears obviously turning in her head. Suddenly she exclaimed, "Yes! Yes, to my sisters!"

Ezio accepted this, it seemed like a good enough idea, "Yes, go there, do that. I must speak with my father."

Once again, Annetta hesitated, before warning him, "Be careful Signore Ezio, the guards were looking for you as well."

He nodded and watched as they left before he took off in the other direction towards the palazzo.

* * *

Ezio stood on top of the roof, waiting patiently for what he assumed to be the acquittal to begin.

Combined with the drama of his family being imprisoned and the attack in which Margherita was assaulted, he wondered if this world was going crazy. If there was one thing Ezio despised, it was a man who forced himself on women. Good God, Ezio knew he was a player. A Casanova, a lover of the ladies. He took women's hearts and often broke them with his carelessness. He whispered sweet nothings he didn't really mean and seduced reluctant women into his bed. But he had far too big a heart and far too much respect for the women he associated with to ever advance on them unless he was certain they were willing.

But to take that intimate coupling Ezio had always found so enjoyable and for someone to twist it into an issue of control, an issue of dominance. To make a young woman cry and weep and harm her like that… to steal her innocence. It was unforgivable.

His father and brother's being imprisoned was imaginable. There was a brief moment when he wondered whether the two were connected... Why would Margherita be there? She had apparently blazed onto the scene but she certainly wasn't that close to his brother, not to simply show up at their house. Signore Alberti... did he have anything to do with this? No, Ezio decided, if his father trusted Alberti, Ezio would as well. Margherita must have seen the guards removing his brothers and father, and rushed to see if everything was okay with the women-folk. That would explain everything.

He pushed these thoughts out of his head as his father and brothers were dragged into the center and up onto the raised platform. The writhing crowd hushed to watch what they assumed was going to be a wonderful show- a perfect execution. Ezio hoped they were wrong as he dropped to the ground and waded into the crowd.

Alberti and a hooded man, along with several armed guards followed the prisoners onto the stage. And then he realized that something simply wasn't right. There was something tragically wrong as Uberto Alberti suddenly ignored Giovanni's declaration of innocence.

Blood rushed past Ezio's ears in a flood. No, no, he was lying! Ezio had given him the documents, handed them into his fist with the assurance of his family's release. He had read through them himself, he knew what they contained! No, no, no!

Just as he opened his mouth to declare the bastard to be the liar he was, a whistle sounded. It pierced through the air from somewhere within the throng of people and he barely had time to glance away from the platform, searching for the cause of the sound when voices rose. Italian words sounded in unison and Ezio recognized a passage from the documents he had handed to Alberti last night.

Ezio couldn't pinpoint the exact location of the speakers, though he attempted to… only to realize they were hidden within the crowd and there was one standing next to him. A courtesan was projecting the excerpt loudly. Those who weren't reciting the words had hushed to listen and slowly as the last sentence ended a quiet murmur rose from the audience.

"So the Auditores are innocent…" Ezio heard from behind him.

Alberti was obviously panicked. Ezio watched as he glanced back to the hooded man.

And then suddenly people started screaming. Men Ezio recognized to be mercenaries had begun to rush the platform, weapons drawn.

All hell had begun to break loose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Well, I'm a little early, but as the 100 views have become a pretty quick deal, I figure I'll be forced to simply do a chapter a week, and I'd prefer it to be on a Sunday. Sunday's are fun, don't you think?**

**Dear, lovely readers, you should all take a moment to thank Gabby-sama for her suggestion of making the chapters a wee longer (I hope you don't mind, I ended up simply doubling them). You see, I do actually listen to you people and take your advice to heart. Because you are all wonderful, like that. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

Margherita stood slumped in the crowd, right beside Sandra, attempting to flex her hand. The tissue around the third degree burns had begun to pucker and her hand was stiff. With her limited knowledge of medicine, she figured that flexing the muscles would help relieve the tension later, even if it burned like fucking crazy. She glanced at Sandra, hoping with all her heart for the sake of this girl that this plan would work.

The night before, the two had approached the courtesans on the street and bribed them with money, paying for a full twenty-four hours. The women had been surprised for a moment, considering it was two young ladies asking for their services, but had agreed regardless. Then the group moved its headquarters to a rather seedy bar. Sandra and Margherita put their heads together and continued to flesh out their plans while the courtesans busied themselves near the bar. Mercenaries where dispatched by Sandra and they began work.

One of the mercenaries was educated enough to read and was able to read the documents aloud for Sandra, who in turn translated them for Margherita. The two girls decided on the most important passages- the ones that expressed the Auditore's innocence to the fullest. These parts were read to the courtesans, who in turn were forced to memorize it. The idea was to project these words as loud as possible and to the most amount of people. The people needed to be on their side so that they'd allow the Auditore men to be set free.

Sandra gave the mercenaries their orders: rush the stage once the courtesans finished reciting their memorized passages and then free the prisoners. If they could, kill Alberti and Borgia.

And then everything was set into place, leaving them tired from having worked through the night and grumpy at having to stand for so long.

They waited amid the chitter-chattering crowd until there was a hush as the prisoners were brought out. Sandra grasped at Margherita's sleeve (thankfully the uninjured arm) as Federico was dragged upward and a noose was strung around his neck.

Alberti made his accusations and Margherita turned to Sandra, "Now," she whispered. Sandra stuck her thumb and middle finger into her mouth and blew as loud as she could, sending a high-pitched whistle over the crowd. The alarm had been raised and the courtesans, good to their word and practice, began to recite the words they had been memorizing all night, completely in unison.

She felt a sense of satisfaction when Alberti began to panic. The look on his face was priceless. And then she began stretching her neck to find Ezio. She knew he was somewhere within the crowd, but she simply couldn't see the white hood bobbing within the throng.

Sandra stood up on her toes and unexpectedly, a smile broke out on her face. Margherita glanced up to see where she was looking. Federico had been scanning the crowd and had found Sandra. Despite the situation, he was smiling at his beloved. Tears made their way down the older girl's face, and Margherita could only imagine how she felt.

When the last word was spoken, the mercenaries rushed the stage just as planned…

And suddenly all of their planning went to hell. The crowd panicked, instead of joining in the fight. The girls were thrust about between the people they were near. Screaming and shouting pierced their ears and amid the jostling Sandra gave a sharp cry before pushing her way towards the pavilion.

"Sandra!" Margherita tried to trail after her, not wanting to be separated within the violent crowd. As they broke into a less crowded area, she saw what had made Sandra take off so quickly- in his state of panic Alberti had crossed the stage and was reaching for the lever.

"No!" Sandra screamed, pushing some random face in the crowd away.

And then the platform fell from underneath them and there was a sickening pop and Margherita blinked and then all three, Giovanni, Federico and Petruccio dangled by the nooses. Dead puppets dancing in the breeze.

"God, no! No! No! No!" the distraught Sandra continued to shriek as she pushed. Her original intent had been prevention, but it had quickly turned to revenge as she broke into a run. Suddenly a tall armored guard appeared in front of her. The axe he wielded glinted in the sunlight as he swung it down and into her gut.

Margherita cried out over the _clink_ of metal hitting bone, breaking bone. The blade went straight through before it hit her spine, causing the man to have some difficulty removing it. He yanked it free and Sandra fell to her knees, and then collapsed completely. She was dead before she hit the ground. Then the guard caught sight of the paralyzed girl who could only stare at her dead friend, and he raised the axe again with the intent of smashing it into Margherita.

She barely had time to react before something (or perhaps someone) grabbed her hand, the injured one, and pulled her out of the way. Pulled her away from the weapon, away from death, and away from the crowd. Dimly the pain registered, her hand hurt. But too many other things clouded her mind- Federico, and then- and then- and then Sandra. She was just struck down without a thought. _Too quick. Too easy. _

Everything had happened so quickly! Yet, Margherita couldn't summon any sort of shock… she was just too numb. All she could feel was the pain in her hand and emptiness in her heart. Even now, as she was being dragged down the deserted streets, pulled by the man she dimly recognized to be Ezio.

Suddenly he stopped at a corner and grabbed her around the waist before flinging the both of them into a cart of hay. She landed on top of him, her body pressed flush against his, her head falling into the crook of his neck. He had situated himself so that his head leaned up against the side of the cart and his arms were wrapped around her waist, protectively.

Guards rushed past their hiding spot, she could hear their footsteps and apparently Ezio heard them as well because his arms flexed around her. But just as quickly as they'd come, they disappeared to continue their search elsewhere and the corner grew quiet.

Her hand still hurt, she realized. And so, she began to cry. No sound came from her mouth, but her body shook with her silent sobs. When Ezio felt the wetness of her tears falling onto his neck, he began rubbing her back gently, tracing her spine. In truth, her tears weren't for herself… they were for those she had tried and failed to save, for her only friend's sadness at having to see her beloved executed and then for that same friend who had been cut down so violently. She cried for lost innocence, for failed plans and for selfishness.

"I tried," she whispered softly, broken. She knew he couldn't understand, but she needed to at least try to convince herself. She could have prevented it, she realized. But she'd chosen to put herself first and Sandra had been killed. There was nothing she could do now, she realized, except try to justify her actions, "Oh God, I tried. And I'm so sorry, so, so, so sorry. I should have warned you, should have stopped them. But I tried, I swear I tried."

After that, Margherita simply stopped talking and continued her silent weeping. She eventually calmed down and her crying trailed off. She lifted herself up off of him slightly. The jostling let a sliver of light enter and she could clearly see the twin trail of tears reflecting from his face. And though he gave no other indication of his mourning, the tears continued to trail down. This close to him, she could see every single one of his eyelashes- moist from the tears.

Softly, she brought a hand up to his face and with as much ease as her trembling, uninjured hand could manage, she smeared the tear tracks in an attempt to brush them away. She trailed down one of the pathways that had made its way down his cheek onto the corner of his lips. Almost on reaction, he kissed the tips of her fingers.

It was such an intimate gesture that for a moment it took her breath away. And suddenly she was acutely aware of how close they were. In a normal scenario she would have accepted his comfort and coveted the butterflies in the stomach. But now, here, all she could think of was _that_ man, his rancid breath slapping her face each time he exhaled, which was each time he- No, no, they were too close. She was trapped.

She had the advantage- being on top of him and so once she began thrashing she was able to pull away and stick her head out of the haystack, allowing fresh air to wash into her lungs. Frantic Italian sounded from beneath her as she tried to climb out, and suddenly a hand grasped her wrist to pull her back under. She let out a scream, panicking. Why was he grabbing her?

Ezio flipped her underneath him, crushing her against him and his hand came to smash against her mouth, silencing her cries. He wasn't- he wasn't going to try anything- was he?

Margherita bucked underneath him, responding just as she had yesterday…

…Yesterday?

Was it only a day ago? God, it felt like a lifetime.

He stared at her with frightened eyes, worry etching lines into his face as he frantically whispered to her in Italian, trying to pacify her. Finally she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her body to tense up. Just like last time. That's how it had happened….

She had been able to hear her mother's voice telling her to fight back no matter what because they would just kill her afterwards anyway (it was a life-lesson she'd had drilled into her head, even at an early age). And so she had struggled before finally giving in and giving up and laying there trying to think of anything besides the man grunting on top of her… the monster in her.

And now she responded just like last time. _Just let him get it over with quickly_, she thought distantly.

When Ezio paused and hesitantly relaxed against her, she was actually surprised. His hand was shaking as he pulled it from her mouth, probably wondering if she was going to start going into hysterics again. Slowly he rolled off of her and exhaled loudly. After glancing at her, he sat up and glanced out of the haystack. Apparently the coast was clear because he jumped out and waited for her to compose herself.

Shaking, Margherita pulled herself out and almost stumbled getting out. On instinct Ezio reached to grab her and steady her, but was smart enough to pause midway, realizing that touching her was the last thing he should do.

He nodded his head towards the next street over and even though she couldn't exactly look him in the eye, she followed him as he began walking. God, there was a terrible ache in her chest. She steadied her breathing and tried to banish all the thoughts swirling in her head. Her reaction had been totally involuntary, the way she had responded… and she knew Ezio would never hurt her, he was someone she could trust, but in that moment nothing had made sense. And quite frankly she was ashamed.

She trailed after him until they met up with the female servant… Annetta? Yes, Margherita recalled, that was her name. They spoke in rapid Italian and then Ezio's voice broke momentarily and Margherita finally glanced at him with concern. Yes… this was where he told Annetta he had tried, but couldn't save them. She looked back at the ground.

"Margherita," Ezio's voice caused her to focus back on him. He pointed at her, then Annetta. She got the message; follow the female to her sister's house. And then Ezio couldn't get away fast enough.

They didn't speak, but Margherita could feel Annetta glance at her a few times. Dimly, she wondered whether her face was still wet with tears. Then she dismissed it, she honestly didn't care.

Upon entering the brothel, a group of courtesans whisked her up to a spare room that was apparently occupied already by Claudia and Maria Auditore. There were two beds, but the room still was quite spacious. Immediately Ezio's sister recognized the older girl and flew across the room. One glance at her tired expression and the young noble girl threw her arms around Margherita. It was a welcomed comfort and she sagged against the warmth.

She was then led to one of the beds and she drifted into the delicious darkness of sleep.

* * *

Margherita was awakened by a nightmare and instantly noticed the sliver of light that blinked in from the afternoon sun. Afternoon? She rolled over and groaned; yes, she could see that the sun was too high in the sky to be anything but midday. There was a buzzing in her chest and she quickly realized she was far too wound up to stay lying down, especially when it finally dawned on her that she was not at the Alberti household, safe in bed. It hadn't all been a dream. She sat up and glanced around. Despite the time of day, Maria and Claudia were still fast asleep in the other bed.

Without a backward glance she left the room and made her way down the stairs. It wasn't until she had reached the bottom of the stairs that she could hear the chattering of conversation; one male voice and one female voice. Despite the fast Italian there was one phrase she picked out, "-Leonardo da Vinci-"

Ah, yes, Ezio was leaving to get his blade fixed. And suddenly she was struck with a sudden urge to meet the man. Of all the inventors throughout history, it was the famed painter and engineer that she had always idolized and since being within the new century she had yet to stumble upon him. Margherita followed the voices to see Paola walk past her, leaving Ezio alone in the porch area. The older woman nodded to Margherita as she passed.

Ezio glanced up and finally noticed her. With some hesitance, she finally stepped up in front of him and pointed first at his chest, then at her own and said, "Leonardo da Vinci."

He blinked, than nodded. Gesturing towards the door, the two left.

* * *

Ezio avoided glancing at her as they walked. After that outburst- and he wasn't going to lie, it had frightened him- he wasn't sure how to respond to her. Any sort of comfort he was used to giving usually involved physical touching. He was a hugger, a kisser, a touch-on-the-shoulder, pat-on-the-back sort of a person. And apparently that sort of affection would only frighten her more. And then he couldn't really talk to her- she couldn't understand anything he said. And so, he was left walking awkwardly beside her.

He switched the blade and bracer to the other hand and continued forward. While the guards were still on high alert, his face was covered by the hood and the crowd camouflaged the two of them well enough.

Slowly, he glanced over at her right hand as it swung at her side. It was wrapped tightly in bandages and it had not avoided his notice that she had not used it since she had been in his presence. He wondered absentmindedly how she had injured it; his sister hadn't mentioned anything about the guards hurting her hand. There was nothing he could do now, and so he focused on continuing forward.

* * *

Margherita spent the trip attempting to convince herself that she was not in fact crazy for leaving the safety of the brothel. She was out in the open now, and surely it wasn't safe for her. No where was safe – not when an innocent servant girl could get cut in two. And this was the image that would not leave her head: Sandra crumpled on the ground, her blood and guts seeping from her midsection.

When they arrived at the door Ezio knocked and the famed da Vinci let them in, speaking in rapid Italian. She tried not to stare, truly she did. But to see such a magnificent historical figure standing before her, in the flesh… Sweet Lord.

Leonardo apparently noticed her unwavering gaze and turned to Ezio. The slight rise in his tone at the end of the sentence was her only clue that he had asked a question. When Ezio responded with her name, she realized that he was introducing her. Leonardo greeted her in Italian and she decided to take a leap of faith- he was brilliant, surely he knew at least French, if not English. Hadn't he spent his last years in France? Died there, too? Wasn't that why the Mona Lisa was in the Louvre?

"Parlez-vous francais?" (Do you speak French?) she asked.

His eyes lit up, "Oui! Bonjour !"

"Er- Bonjour. Parlez-vous anglais?" (Hello. Do you speak English ?)

He nodded rapidly, "Are you English?"

Margherita hesitated, no, no, she couldn't tell him such a secret like that. She didn't want to lie to such an amazing person, but he didn't have a clue about what the heck her native country was, considering Christopher Columbus hadn't even sailed for the New World yet. So, she returned to her original story, "Yes, I'm English."

Ezio made a sound in the back of his throat and crossed his arms. He said something to Leonardo, making him smile, who then turned to Margherita again, "He says he feels left out."

Margherita snorted in the most unladylike fashion, feeling like herself for the first time in what seemed like a long time, "Tell him that this is how I feel constantly." There was something about Leonardo that just made her feel comfortable… made her forget everything else.

After Leonardo translated this, a look passed over Ezio's face. He asked Leonardo something, who then asked Margherita, "Were you that one who arranged what happened in the palazzo yesterday? With the mercenaries?"

Instead of responding verbally she simply turned to Ezio and nodded. He asked something else and Leonardo translated, "He wants to know why you would help."

There were several different ways that could be taken, and since she would rather not dwell on the memories that already plagued her of the _first_ time she had assisted the Auditore family and spared Maria the violation, she decided to simply answer regarding the second time she had offered her assistance, "Where I come from, the accused are considered innocent until proven guilty."

She could tell that this was not the sort of answer that would pacify him, but regardless, he nodded and turned back to Leonardo and the two began speaking Italian again. Margherita quickly became bored and began wandering around the workshop. Paintings were up against the wall and small contraptions were set up on the rare counter space. After taking one cycle around the workshop, a stack of leather-bound books in the corner caught her eye. She walked over to that corner and then glanced back at the two men.

Leonardo had since shushed Ezio, and the younger of the two men had taken a seat while the painter began his work on translating the codex. It seemed they had forgotten about her.

"You are an amazing artist," she complimented.

Distractedly, Leonardo glanced up. "Oh, yes, thank you," he responded, mildly flustered at having been interrupted. Then he bowed his head and got back to the codex.

Margherita took one more cycle around the room, and then turned back once again to glance at Leonardo. She was terribly bored and those leather-bound books looked so tempting in their inconspicuous corner.

He was still so engrossed in the codex page that he was translating, so she grabbed the top book in a rare moment of nosiness and flipped through it. There were pages and pages of diagrams- the last diagram was attempting to explain a pulley machine. Some of the notes scribbled on the side were in Italian, but the math Leonardo had been using was universal. The calculations were incomplete, she realized. And then a light bulb went off in her head- _physics. _This was physics.

While her one and only love had always been biology, with chemistry coming in as a close second and algebra completing her list of favorite subjects in school, physics was also something she had enjoyed. After scanning the diagram she came to the conclusion that he was missing the force of gravity. Of course, extensive research into motion hadn't begun until later, so the equations were unknown currently.

Her fingers twitched to fall into her old passion and she grabbed a writing utensil from a table close by and sat down. She quickly realized that life was much easier with a calculator. Without the little electronic device, everything took so much longer since she had to do all the work by hand. Oh, the luxuries of the modern world. How spoiled she was!

Ah, yes, with the increased tension here, the frictional force would cancel out and it would work. Almost on habit, she circled the answer and sat back in her chair and stretched.

"Amazing! Where did the 9.81 come from? It seems rather random." Margherita jumped about five feet in the air but managed to stifle the little gasp that escaped her. Sweet Lord, Leonardo had appeared right behind her as she had worked, apparently having finished _his_ work long ago.

"What? Oh, thanks. The, um, the 9.81 is gravity," she answered.

"Gravity? Very interesting," he paused and added, "I love painting but my true passion has always been engineering. This is very nice."

Margherita almost blushed. This man, Leonardo da Vinci, _the_ Leonardo da Vinci had complimented her science. And suddenly she couldn't help the next words that came from her mouth, "Do you need a student? Or an assistant? Or a housemaid? Really- I'll do anything you need!"

Yes, she was terribly overeager, but good Lord, she felt at home here. The clutter reminded her of her room right before her mother would yell at her to clean it- a wonderfully organized mess. And she knew historians speculated that Leonardo was actually homosexual, so she figured she would be safe from any sort of advances. Besides, once Ezio left for the Auditore Villa, she would really only be a burden. It also wouldn't be awful to work under one of the most famous men of the Renaissance.

He blinked, "Are you offering?" At her anxious nod, he stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully, "I don't see the harm. If you can do more of this," he gestured to the book that was still opened in front of her, "Then it would be an honor to have you as a student, and perhaps, later, an assistant."

She really couldn't help the grin that broke out across her face, which slowly dissolved when Leonardo asked, "Will Ezio mind?"

Shaking her head, Margherita glanced at the sleeping man, "No, no he won't."

Leonardo nodded, then crossed the room to gently shake Ezio awake. Margherita stood snickering as she watched Leonardo convince Ezio he needed to remove his ring finger. It had always been a favorite part in the game of her, especially since Ezio had so readily fallen for the joke. The younger man noticed her stifled snickering across the room and scrunched his nose in her direction to convey his annoyance, all in good humor of course.

Once their conversation had ended, Ezio gestured for her to follow him, only to be interrupted by the knocking at the door. True to the game, Leonardo followed the guard out into the courtyard and Ezio exited the workshop shortly after, upon realizing that the inventor was being assaulted. She waited patiently for the two to return after Ezio went to rescue him from the guard.

As Ezio walked past her carrying the corpse, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Leonardo turned to her and asked, "Are you sure about this?"

Margherita didn't even have to hesitate, "Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

"Alright then," He grinned down at her.

When Ezio returned, he thanked Leonardo once again and then nodded to her, signaling that it was time to go. She shook her head back at him, and then glanced at Leonardo to explain.

While the two men spoke, she avoided looking into his eyes. She didn't want to see his expression, afraid that he might take offense to her sudden departure. Finally silence descended over the group before Ezio said something to Leonardo. The bearded man turned to Margherita, "He wishes you luck here and he wants to thank you."

Ezio took a few steps forward and gently, softly, slowly and very hesitantly he took her hand in his. Without looking away from her face- searching for any sign that she might pull away in fear or fall into hysterics- he bent to place his lips along her knuckles. As he pulled away he spoke in silky Italian that she could hear Leonardo translate behind her, "Thank you for everything you have done for my family. I'm forever in your debt."

And then he was gone.

Leonardo clapped his hands together, and rubbed them briskly, "Well, I suppose you can take the room my assistant's use, when I have one. Which I don't, currently. Well, I suppose you count as an assistant, so- ha, anyway, let me show you to your bedchamber."

As Margherita followed after him, she ignored the heaviness in her heart. Soon Alberti would be dead and Ezio would take his mother and sister far from here. But he'd return. She knew within two years he would return with another codex page and she'd be able to see him then, and hopefully her Italian will have improved and maybe she'd be able to properly thank him.

And it wasn't as though she was going to be miserable; science was always her passion and she'd be surrounded by it in its fledgling stage, able to experiment and enlighten the minds of the Renaissance. With a small smile she wondered whether, assuming she was able to return to her proper time, she would be able to look herself up in the history books.

**End Part I**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: So, technically it's Sunday, yeah? Even if I technically still haven't gone to bed… Well, today **_**is**_** cause for celebration. I was at the Renaissance Faire in Bristol today for the first time ever and it was epic. Basically. And! Because of my extensive research of Italian Renaissance clothing and culture, I could recognize some of the costumes and stuff. Totally recommend it. The joust was definitely the best part… I kinda want to work a joust into the story, even if Ezio never stumbled across any… See, jousting was extremely popular during the Renaissance, so it just might happen.**

**I'm glad everyone enjoyed the new chapter length; it will probably be the average one – the goal being over 4,000 words per chapter. **

**As I was writing this, I was definitely listening to Emilie Autumn's Willow. Do check out her music, she's flippin' amazing. Yes, I'm a loyal Plague Rat. **

**Random side-note: Leonardo's full name is** **Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci. I was not aware of this when I named the assistant. Which I find to be funny. ****Enjoy!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

**Begin Part II**

Ezio came back from training early. The new techniques were very interesting, involving ledge, jumping, and hidden assassination. These would be useful, he decided, as he continued on back to Leonardo's workshop. He could always count on his old friend and as he rounded a corner he wondered what exactly he was making at this very moment and just how useful it would be on future assassinations.

Before opening the door, he paused. Hm, there was something he was forgetting… Or- or, someone… Oh! Yes! Ezio opened the door and found Leonardo bent over his project, still not finished yet. "Leonardo," he began, "What ever happened to that one girl, uh, Margherita?"

Leonardo didn't even glance up from his work, "What do you mean, "What happened"? She's my assistant."

Ezio blinked, "You mean she's still here?"

The other man nodded, still engrossed in the bracer and blade, "Yes, she should be somewhere upstairs, I think." He then dissolved into muttering, and Ezio didn't bother to listen, knowing that Leonardo had returned his full attention back to the bracer. That man was too dedicated to his work sometimes. Instead, Ezio took a seat and silently lost himself in his musings.

Once it had been finished and handed to Ezio, the younger man asked, "Has she been a good assistant? Helpful?"

Leonardo stood and fetched the two of them something to drink. "Oh yes, I'm constantly amazed by how much she knows! Theories I've never seen before… It's quite amazing. And her latest project is absolutely enthralling." He poured some spiced wine into the little ceramic cups, and Ezio momentarily hesitated. He had seen these same cups used to hold murky liquid as Leonardo had been painting.

Ezio sipped cautiously, "And what is this latest project?"

"A machine that can float through the sky using fire to heat the air inside of a balloon" he said. "It's quite remarkable, actually," Ezio nodded, yes, that did sound interesting. Suddenly Leonardo added, "Sometimes it's a wonder she's getting any work done at all."

"Hm?" Ezio attempted some attempt at polite conversation.

"Well, when I don't need her, she's usually off with some boy or another. They follow her around like puppies. Not that she does much to dissuade them. Sometimes I worry about her."

Ezio furrowed his brows, confused. He attempted to form a mental picture of the girl, and found it rather unsatisfactory. Though the blonde hair was treasured as a rarity, her face was splotched with freckles and acne and the last time he had seen her, dark circles had deepened the crevices under her eyes. Besides that, ill-fitting dresses had always either hidden her shape or deformed it. The only thing about her he could recall enjoying was her breasts when she had been wearing that dress that had exposed an ample amount of cleavage.

But he knew first-hand that sometimes attractiveness could be inspired from personality. Though, quite frankly, one memory stood out in his mind- the one in which she had fallen into hysterics and tried to escape him, almost giving away their hiding spot. And then she had been nearly completely unable to look him directly in the eyes. This was the girl who had boys trailing after her?

Ezio voiced his musing, "Hm, I don't remember her ever being very pretty and she was terribly meek and skittish. Are you certain she is just not simply more… giving then other girls?"

Leonardo gave a small chuckle, then suddenly his face dissolved from amused to shocked, and he stumbled into a standing position, banging his knee against the table as he rose, "Margherita-!"

Ezio turned to follow his gaze- and blinked. The young lady stood at the top of the staircase watching the two men. Those two years had been kind to her. Her blonde hair had grown out into a more manageable length that was pulled back into a braid that went from her crown then coiled at the nape of her neck. She was finally wearing a dress that fit her curvy body, even if the color was plain beige and the neckline covered any semblance of cleavage. Age had withered her teenage acne and prolonged exposure to the sun had calmed the splotches of freckles into speckles along her cheeks that Ezio could really only describe as cute.

As she descended the stairs and came closer to the flickering candle, the trained assassin was able to notice the finder details of her face- more specifically the light kohl smeared along her upper lash line and a moist paste spread onto her lips, artificially plumping them.

Suddenly his eyes strayed even farther down, landing on her right hand. A glove that had had the fingers cut off was covering her hand. Ezio absently wondered at the oddity of such an accessory, but decided it didn't matter.

Ezio froze upon realizing that she must have heard everything he had said, or at the very least the last part in which he basically assumed she was a slut. While her Italian had been nonexistent when he had known her, surely she had improved her Italian in the two years he had been gone.

Once Margherita reached the last step she smiled at Ezio, and then turned to speak to Leonardo in English. When the artist translated her words, "Hello Ezio, I am very glad to see you. How have you been?" Ezio paused momentarily. That came as a shock, the fact that she had focused on her science and sexuality more than her communication skills.

"I am good, and Leonardo tells me you have been working very hard," Ezio let Leonardo translate.

As she listened to the inventor she nodded and smiled again before turning back to Leonardo and speaking in rapid English. Once her sentence was finished she grabbed a satchel on the table nearest her. Leonardo told Ezio, "She says she would love to stay but must go to the market to pick up supplies." She waved and then left.

Ezio whistled lowly once the door closed and crossed his arms, watching the door appreciatively, "I take it back. I would happily follow her around with my tail wagging."

He didn't notice as Leonardo shared a small smile with himself and shook his head.

* * *

Ezio set out to look for Le Volpe, glancing at his newest blade. It would take some getting used to this new weapon. But it would be quite effective, and that was all that mattered. Walking into the crowded marketplace, he blended into a group to avoid the guards. He had barely turned a corner when a stock of blonde hair caught his attention. Oh, yes, she had said she was going to the market.

He quickly noted that she was attempting to carry the overstuffed satchel and two long strips of plywood. It seemed she was struggling, so Ezio decided to assist her. Perhaps after he assisted her back to the workshop he would be able to corner her up against the wall and become reacquainted with her. He smirked like a predator and was but twenty feet from her when another man stepped up to grab the goods from her hands.

Turning to hide his face and mild annoyance at not reaching her fast enough to be the one to charm her, he was just close enough to hear them speaking… speaking in perfect Italian.

"Ah! Margherita, you seem as though you require assistance," the young man commented, stooping lowly. He was terribly tall and wide across the shoulders to the point that even the average-height Margherita had to look far up to him.

A small… giggle came from her mouth, "That depends, are you offering, Bartolo?"

"Of course, beautiful, you should not overwork yourself," Bartolo said as he took the plywood and swung the satchel over his shoulder. The two began walking in the general direction of the workshop. Curious, Ezio followed behind at an inconspicuous distance.

She had misled him, Ezio realized quickly. She had learned Italian within the two years he had been away, but why wouldn't she have used it when he had returned, why would she- oh, Ezio realized. If she could speak it, that must mean she was able to understand what he had said about her lack of beauty and her supposed promiscuity.

"Now, what are you expecting?" Margherita asked.

"Expecting?" the boy feigned ignorance.

"Oh, well, you're being so kind, surely you expect a reward, am I correct?"

Bartolo grinned down at the girl, "Ah, from such a pretty girl, how could I take advantage of her? No, no, no, your mere presence is enough."

Ezio almost felt like puking. Yes, he had used a similar line before, with many, many girls, but that didn't mean he enjoyed another man attempting to charm this girl – the same he intended to make his next conquest. It was almost pathetic. They reached the workshop and despite the satchel and plywood, Bartolo opened the door for her and the two walked in, disappearing from Ezio's sight.

Hm, how interesting.

* * *

After having given up locating Le Volpe, Ezio made his way back to Leonardo's workshop. The man was somewhere in the Firenze, that much he knew, and he figured he would be able to begin looking again the next day. For now, he would ask Leonardo whether he could stay with him in the meantime.

When he knocked, he had been expecting his friend to answer the door, but instead Margherita did. Inwardly, he grinned like a wolf. Two could play the ignorance game and this promised to be fun.

"Er, Leonardo-?" He watched as she feigned confusion at just that simple phrase.

"No here," she managed to get out in broken Italian after taking a moment to construct the sentence.

When she moved to let him in, he walked through the door and said, "I apologize but I must speak to him."

Margherita furrowed her brows, still pretending to be ignorant of what he was saying. But he knew perfectly well that she understood him. So he continued to play along, "I need talk to Leonardo. Me talk Leonardo."

She nodded slowly and crossed the room, gesturing to a chair for him to sit in as she made her way to a table covered with papers. As Ezio followed her, he smiled and inclined his head in thanks as he passed her. Margherita bent over the table, just as he had seen Leonardo do before, her entire focus on the papers in front of her. Grabbing a writing utensil, she began scribbling on one of the sheets before pausing to glance up at the ceiling, then returning back to the problem at hand. Only the scribble of the quill on parchment could be heard.

Ezio sat and crossed his arms, mumbling to himself under his breath, "Hm, I wonder if Leonardo has had her yet…"

The girl paused her work for a moment and stiffened. He knew he had hit a nerve. Smirking, he continued, "No, no, no, she's far too dumb for him. I can't picture him with anyone who isn't as brilliant as him. He probably wants a woman who can keep up with him, a woman who-"

"Actually, he would not want a woman at all," she snapped in perfect Italian, not even looking up from her work. Before Ezio could even respond to that- he would not want a woman at all… Margherita continued, "And don't you dare insult my intelligence. I bet you discontinued schooling long ago."

Ezio grinned and leaned back in his chair, "Ah, now she speaks."

Finally, she glanced up at his face and a small scowl pulled at her mouth. Apparently she didn't appreciate the joke, "You figured it out. How?"

"The marketplace. You really should be more observant. Someone will take advantage of your obliviousness." Margherita huffed and turned back to her work, while Ezio continued, "I should have expected that you had learned at least some Italian after being here for two years."

"And you were dumb enough to be mislead despite your… expectation," she snarked.

Ezio stood and walked around the table to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. A picture was scribbled onto a piece of parchment with words and arrows all around it. Apparently she hadn't learned how to write Italian yet, or she was simply more comfortable writing in English because he couldn't understand any her notes that were crammed into the margins around the picture. "Your floating machine?" he asked.

"It is called a hot air balloon."

He leaned even closer and he noted that he could feel the heat of her body. Warmth rolled off her back and caressed his armored chest. "Oh, my mistake," he paused and looked at her face. From this angle he could just see her jaw and chin. He commented, "You have changed."

Lifting her quill, she turned to meet his eyes. They were very close, their breath intermingling yet she made no move to pull back. Instead she grinned softly, "I am aware. According to you I have increased from not very pretty to one who is rather slutty."

He winced, "Yes, yes, I am sorry about that."

Her lips pulled back in an almost feral grin, "All is forgiven."

"Hm…" he purred and tilted his head at the best angle needed to press his lips to hers. The milliseconds ticked by as he leaned ever closer, and while she didn't pull away she also made no move to get closer. Instead, she glanced at his lips as they came closer.

Suddenly, the door burst open, "Margherita! I say we start on that dissection of the liver before nightfall, what do you – oh!"

Ezio didn't make a move to pull back, but a sense of déjà-vu washed over him as Margherita ducked away and approached Leonardo, "Yes, that sounds fine. I'll go get your tools." And with that, she disappeared into another room.

Ezio watched as Margherita left the room, and then turned back to Leonardo with a look of annoyance. What was it with people interrupting him and that girl before anything could happen? He didn't think he'd ever get to kiss her. "You have very bad timing, my friend…" Ezio drawled, crossing his arms.

Leonardo had also followed her departure with his eyes and now glanced back at the young man. His face seemed to fall, and he looked uneasy, "Ezio, may I make a request of you?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Please don't try to tumble with Margherita."

Ezio blinked, paused, and finally stuttered, "W-what?"

The inventor groaned, at a loss for words, "You see, she – she, the way she acts with men. These past two years I have seen men come and go and she flirts and she teases, but beyond that – nothing. She has deep relationships with other women – she can talk to them, and smile with them, and be unguarded around members of her own sex, but beyond her promiscuous teasing she doesn't connect with men. And even though she can touch them – and believe me, I've seen her touch men in a wide variety of places… I really should learn to knock… anyway, despite the fact that she touches them, she refuses to let them touch her. I don't think she's actually fornicated since she's been my assistant.

"When I've had the chance to speak with some of the young men, I've noticed that they know virtually nothing about her! It's like she's totally guarded, like she doesn't let anyone in. I think… I have a theory… that she has been abused in some way. It's the only reason I can think of for this kind of behavior."

Ezio nodded, "Yes, my friend, she was assaulted when my father and brothers were imprisoned." He recalled, quite vividly, the time she had fallen into hysterics in the haystack. Of course she wouldn't have magically healed since then.

Leonardo stopped pacing, and stared at Ezio, letting the information absorb, "Yes, yes, that explains it… She sees her teasing as a form of control… probably an attempt to reclaim the control she lost when she was raped…" The inventor fell into his mental musing.

After a moment Ezio made a noise in the back of his throat to refocus Leonardo's attention. "Oh, yes!" Leonardo began again, "See, she puts these men at an arm's length. I'm the only man she trusts, I think… Probably because I've never expected anything from her besides her role as a student and assistant. And I think that if you try to seduce her, if you either try to take away her control by advancing on her or if you let her control you by falling for her teases, you will break her trust… I think the one thing she needs is a strong man in her life that she can count on, who doesn't want her for a tumble or an assistant."

Ezio frowned a bit, "You ask a lot of me, my friend. She has matured these past two years. I will have much trouble saying no."

"But please do so, anyway, for her sake. Show her that there are men she can trust," Leonardo pleaded.

"Fine, fine, I will not tumble with her-"

"-Or try to tumble with her…"

Ezio groaned, "I cannot promise I will always be on my best behavior. I cannot always control my charm."

"But I have your word you will know the limits?"

"Yes, yes, I will try to be a good little boy."

Leonardo sighed and barely got out, "That's all I'm asking for," just as Margherita walked back into the room, tool pouch in hand.

* * *

The residual blood left on the metal tools was removed cautiously. Margherita was unable to move her right hand very well and was forced to rely primarily on her left hand. As she swiped at the blood, she wondered whether she would have actually let him kiss her had they not been interrupted. She hoped she wouldn't have. Yes, she would have kissed him, but letting him kiss her was an entirely different story.

And quite frankly, she'd done enough kissing earlier that day with Bartolo after he had kindly escorted her home and her lips were tired. Hm, but he _was_ very experienced, if she recalled correctly- she might have ended up enjoying it had she let him. As she put the tools back in the cabinet she exited the room where all the corpses were piled and pulled the scarf from her mouth. While this time period wasn't known for their hygiene, she still insisted on protecting herself from disease… or at the very least, the smell.

Margherita quickly noticed that the table had been set by Leonardo's newest student, a young man by the name of Piero. He was a short little man who nearly licked the ground Leonardo walked on. After Margherita had been promoted from student to assistant, the young man had come a-knocking. He was mostly in charge of the cooking and painting, while Margherita handled the cleaning and more scientific aspects of Leonardo's life.

Food had been prepared and sat steaming, but Ezio and Leonardo sat, apparently waiting for her. She bounded up the stairs to get cleaned up, telling them to start without her. Even after she returned, they had still left the food untouched and she sighed, sitting down, "You needn't have waited for me."

Both gave transparent excuses but she knew that she should have expected this from them- Leonardo was far too respectful of her to not wait and Ezio was far too cunning to not use the disguise of a gentleman to get into her pants. They had been discussing mundane topics, court gossip, patrons and Leonardo's latest painting, when she had sat down, but as they filled their plates, Ezio glanced around the table and commented, "Hey, Leonardo, your student seems to have forgotten the meat."

Leonardo chuckled and Margherita barely stifled a giggle. He explained, "No, this is not a mistake. Margherita and I don't eat meat."

Ezio was obviously confused by the prospect, "What?" he asked.

"We are vegetarians," Margherita clarified. Good lord, had Margherita loved her Big Mac and Leonardo certainly had the funds to afford meat at dinner for her, but from the first day she'd entered the workshop she had been curious about life without meat and she hadn't wanted to burden her mentor, so she had thus abstained from it. And there were benefits – for one, she felt healthier, and for another, she had lost most of the extra weight she had had around her midsection, a flaw that had always caused her much insecurity.

The assassin blinked, "That sounds ridiculous."

"Yes," she began, scowling at him, "I suppose you wouldn't understand."

"And what does _that_ mean?"

She licked her lips, carefully and purposefully, under the guise of catching any stray food, "Because you view _everything_ as a piece of meat that you want nothing more than to savor."

The way his eyes followed her tongue did not escape her notice. Her lips curving into a smirk only managed to distract him and he responded with a grin, "I have found that some meat should be savored… it is the only way to eat it."

Leonardo gave a strangled cough and Margherita didn't miss the pointed look he shot Ezio. Hm, he'd never minded when she flirted with her other toys. Did Ezio count as a toy? No, perhaps not yet. The young genius turned the conversation back to the mundane, _safe_ subjects as Margherita continued her musing. She really shouldn't have risen to the bait – but the assassin was just so fun to tease.

_He'll certainly be a challenge,_ she mused. _But isn't that the point?_

"I was unable to find Le Volpe today. I will begin my search again tomorrow but for now I have no where to go," Ezio's words broke her from her thoughts.

"Oh, don't worry, my friend!" Leonardo exclaimed, "You know my door is always open for you! Margherita, please prepare a bed for Ezio."

She nodded and stood to do as told just as Piero began to clear the table, "Yes, sir."

_Well, that certainly isn't following the game, _she thought. _Then again, do we really know how quickly or slowly time passes while in game-play mode?_ Then she mentally sighed, _This could be dangerous. Who knows what trouble we'll get into under the same roof?_

"Thank you, my friend!" Ezio grinned and rose to help Piero clear the table just as Margherita disappeared upstairs.

"Ezio, that isn't necessary," the inventor expostulated.

The assassin just smiled and shook his head, "It's the least that I can do to thank you for your hospitality."

"Actually, the least you can do is… keep your reproductive organs to yourself."

And with that the conversation was closed.

* * *

After getting a breath of fresh air on the roof, Ezio entered one of the second floor rooms via the window. He was certain Leonardo had disappeared into another chamber to work undisturbed. And the assistant was no where to be seen; he'd probably also shut himself up. It seemed he had emerged from the outside into Margherita's room. There wasn't much of a personal touch – just a bed, a dresser, and small desk. Books were stacked, cluttering the floor to the point that he could barely find a path through it all and some of the stacks reached up to his waist.

Ezio knew she was still downstairs so he grabbed one of them from a pile near her bed, and he flipped it open. Scanning the scribbled writings, he realized it was all in a foreign language. It seemed she was too lazy to learn to write Italian… but she was probably a peasant so the fact that she had any schooling at all was amazing.

Once he realized there was nothing left to do, he then descended the stairs to the main part of the workshop. Margherita was bent over the cot she had just prepared, pulling a blanket across it, then fluffing the pillow. He paused a moment, watching the way her position accented her backside. She seemed to have noticed him, however, because she stood erect and turned towards him. With a small, flirty smile, (it seemed, she was in a good mood) she gave an exaggerated curtsey, "I have prepared your glorious bedchamber, milord."

Giving a gentle chuckle, Ezio glanced around. The small cot had been set up right in the middle of the main workshop. Following her joke, he gave a stiff bow and said, "You have my sincerest thanks, milady."

When he glanced back up Margherita was smiling… and it was the kind of smile that crept up to her eyes and put a supple twinkle in it. Yes, she was definitely in a good mood. Without much thought Ezio stood straight and crossed the room to finally kiss her. It was the perfect moment – she looked so unguarded, and there was no one to interrupt them – finally. And goodness knew, his uncle's training didn't leave much time for… other activities.

He was barely two feet away when a flicker of recognition crossed her face – she knew he was going to kiss her … and she gave the slightest flinch. Ezio mentally cursed and thanked his ancestors for his Sight. He would rather have remained ignorant of her discomfort, but part of him was glad because he didn't want to hurt her, even unintentionally. Not the girl who had done so much for his family.

Leonardo's words washed over him – yes, yes. _A man she could trust in._

Instead he reached for her scarred hand, acting as though that had been his intention all along. Certainly, he had noticed it at dinner and had wondered about it. Briefly, he recalled how she'd been wearing bandages on that appendage two years prior. Ezio turned it over and inspected the healed burns. Margherita feebly tried to pull away. She had taken off her fingerless glove during the dissection and had left it off for dinner, but he hadn't had a chance to get a good look.

The scar was a supple, shiny pink ringed with translucent white. It was raised about a quarter of an inch and as Ezio traced a finger over the largest, angriest part, she didn't react.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Not anymore. It's stiff, mostly," she pulled her hand back and Ezio let her. "The pink part is totally numb."

He nodded slowly, "Was this… was this punishment for helping my mother?"

Blinking, she was a little shocked before she shook her head, "No, no this was – Alberti never found out about… that, I don't think," she explained. "But, um, he tried to destroy those documents and… well,"

"Oh, he burned them?" Ezio finished.

Margherita nodded, decided she was done with this conversation, then bowed her head "goodnight" before she bounded up to her own bedchamber.

* * *

The next morning, Margherita was not surprised when she came down for breakfast to find that the eagle-titled assassin had fled the coop. As she dismantled the cot and packed it away for the next guest, Leonardo descended the stairs, "Good morning, Margherita," he greeted, giving a little wave.

"Good morning, Leonardo," she said before turning back to her work. It wasn't until she picked up the cushion Ezio had used as a pillow the night before and managed to breathe in an unfamiliar and pleasant scent that must have been the young man's own that she gave a great sigh.

"Ah," Leonardo had apparently heard, "Are you upset that he is gone?"

The girl gave herself a moment to think – she was probably more relieved that Ezio had left, especially without saying goodbye prior to his departure. Last night's discussion brought up things she preferred to keep silent and hidden. She was an idiot to leave her hand unbound – she never left it unbound. Even with her male distractions, her hand and its shameful mark were always covered. It was something she didn't want to think about… that day, that night… she wanted to push it all out of her mind. So, she went back to what she knew best: science and socializing. And she was happy.

_Happy._

Which was partially unbelievable, considering she'd always been close to her family, a lover of luxuries, and so innocent. Now she might never see her family again, had to work hard for everything she wanted, and was terribly tainted. But it was peaceful here with just the genius and his rotating assistants, the paintings, the books, the experiments… even the dead bodies.

And this stupid assassin was just going to complicate things.

But she couldn't very well tell Leonardo that… she hadn't even explained her "oh, yeah, bee-tee-dubbs, I'm, like, from the future. Or another realm. It's, like, mucho complicated" scenario yet. So, she lied, "Yeah, it was kind of nice having a guest."

Leonardo gave a broad grin for some un-godly reason and left the room, saying over his shoulder, "Then perhaps we'll have to host him more often."

_At night I lie awake  
Thinking of all the hearts I'd happily break  
It's cruel I know  
At least they tell me so  
Well someone lock me up and throw away the key  
Because I'm not ashamed, oh no  
Oh, willow_

_- Emilie Autumn_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: So, summer is drawing to a close. That makes me terribly sad. On a brighter note, I finally finished the game. Yes, yes, I know what you must be thinking, "How can someone write a story when they haven't played the game through?" Well, I'll tell ya. See, during winter break after the game had just come out, I played non-stop until the part where the data is corrupted and you skip two memory sequences. Then, I realized I was almost done with it. Which made me very sad. So I stopped playing, in an attempt to conserve the awesomeness. Then, I forgot about it. Ginny is ADD.**

**Summer arrived, as did boredom, and I started playing again, but I didn't want to start at the very end, so I began a new game… then stopped exactly where I'd stopped last time! But, only for a few weeks. And last week, I finally finished it. So, yay for me.**

**Anyways, please enjoy. Also, beware the fluff. Let me know if I pulled it off, though. I'm still fiddling with the dynamics of the relationships. Think, Jemmye and Knight from Real Word: New Orleans, minus the sex… for now.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

The next few days passed swiftly and without much disturbance. It wasn't until noon one day when Margherita was out and about, attempting to procure the right kind of fabric for her hot air balloon that all hell seemed to break loose around her – mostly in the form of guards cutting down anything that moved and civilians who had armed themselves and certainly weren't shy about who they attacked.

It seemed the city was in a state of civil war and lucky Margherita was able to slip right back to Leonardo's workshop unharmed and before the worst of it began. Side streets and alleyways always seemed to come in handy.

_Oh yes, _she remembered_. Ezio has probably just saved the Medici guy and needs to kill someone… I can't though, for the life of me, remember what happens after that… Hm. I just remember Venezia. But that's later, isn't it? Agh. Who cares at this point? _

"Do you think we're all going to die?" Piero asked, holding tightly to one of Leonardo's scalpels. The three had gathered on the first floor workshop to listen to Margherita's reports of the chaos outside. Poor boy honestly thought he could defend himself with one of those dinky things.

"No, no, I'm certain it'll all be alright," the painter assured his pupil before turning to Margherita. "I'd like to go over your balloon calculations one more time before we - " he gestured to Piero, "-begin on that commission." In a tone too soft for Piero to hear, he added, "Something to get his mind off what's going on outside, right?"

Margherita nodded and went off to collect her notebooks.

* * *

The next day, Margherita found herself to be the only one in the house, with Leonardo out handpicking his new corpses since the bloodbath the other day created them in great supply and Piero was shopping for new paints. To occupy her time, she was attempting to teach herself how to read and write Italian. Which was easier said than done. She had procured a book written in English and another copy written in Italian. She hoped that by reading the Italian one and comparing the way the words sounded to how she knew they were spoken would work. If anything, she had the English version to double-check.

A knocking startled her from her self-taught lesson. Surely Leonardo and Piero wouldn't knock and with the chaos of yesterday she wasn't too keen on letting strangers into the house. "Hello?" she asked, getting closer to the door, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Ezio," was the reply.

With an internal groan (she really didn't want to have to deal with him right now, especially since she was alone) she opened the door and let the assassin slide into the workshop. He didn't look injured, but the tension in his face told her he hadn't rested since his assassination – or, if he had, not well.

"Is Leonardo here?" he asked.

"No, he's gone out to pick over the dead bodies," she replied. "Do you need him to translate a Codex page?"

This surprised the assassin, "You know about the Codex pages?"

"Well, yeah," was the immediate (and rather reckless) answer.

"Leonardo told you about the Codex pages?" Ezio seemed genuinely disgruntled at this idea.

_Great, time to backtrack. Why would Leonardo mention the Codex pages?_ Missing a small beat she explained, "He wanted me to be able to decode them if you need it and he's not there. I told him I'm terrible at puzzles, though, so if you do need him, you're going to have to wait." Wow, maybe that acting class in high school had paid off.

This seemed to pacify him, at least for the moment, before Ezio shook his head, "No, no, it's nothing like that. I am just leaving Firenze for a while and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Well, I'll extend the pleasantry."

He caught onto her joking tone at once. Huffing with false offense, Ezio crossed his arms, "Yes, see that you do."

Margherita couldn't help but be amused. Wasn't she supposed to be avoiding him and his advances? "Then, good day, sir."

He nodded, letting a crooked smile peep through his act, then he turned to leave and would have continued out the door had Margherita's inquiry of, "When do you think you'll return?" not stopped him.

Glancing back, he shrugged, "A year, maybe more." And then he continued out of the building.

* * *

Two years passed. Piero graduated and left for greener pastures. Two of Margherita's prototype hot air balloons ended up smashed into the ground after their long descent from the skies. No one was in them, just a few bags of stones that should have weighed the same as a full grown man, but sadly the third failed prototype crashed right into a merchant's stand. After the damages were paid (most from her own pocket and a decent about from Leonardo's since she didn't have that much of her own money) Leonardo suggested she put a pause on her creation – just for now.

She agreed and instead turned to occupying her time with both the study of genetics and learning to read Italian. By the time Leonardo was commissioned by a patron in Venezia, her studies in peapod genetics (yes, she was a terrible little copy-cat, but honestly, who was going to call her out about it? Gregor Mendel wouldn't be alive for another two hundred years) was only half completed and her endeavor to learn the written language was almost fulfilled.

"Shit!" Leonardo gave a muffled curse from his position kneeled on the ground in front of the broken wagon. Not two miles into their journey to Forli the wheel had snapped and Leonardo was quickly able to figure out how to fix it, but needed the wagon raised up to get to the cracked axis.

"It's so rare to hear you curse, Leonardo," Margherita commented. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Hm… go back to the town and find someone to help lift this, please, Margherita," he didn't even bother to turn around.

She cocked her head to the side a moment, "You actually think someone will be able to lift this? The wagon weighs quite a lot, not to mention all the cargo."

"It's fine," Leonardo said. "There has to be some way."

"Alright, then," and off she went.

Three hours later Margherita returned alone to find Leonardo standing up on the front seats of the carriage, only his shoulders and up visible.

"Leonardo, I'm sorry," she called out as she trekked back towards him. "Absolutely no one was willing to help. Hmph! You'd think _someone_ would want to play the knight in shining armor for a damsel-in-distress or at the very least, a Good Samaritan. But apparently people don't do that here." She meant the past, not specifically the countryside just out of Firenze, but Leonardo didn't need to know that.

Just as she was rounding the carriage a silky voice said, "Well, then, mademoiselle, consider me your knight in shining armor."

Oh, yes, Ezio was supposed to help fix the carriage… wow, it'd been years since she'd played the game. Four, in fact. The little details were slipping away. What was the use of knowing everything if you forgot it all? Omniscience was _never_ overrated.

"You act as though _I'm _the damsel-in-distress," Margherita snarked back, rounding the corner and therefore giving herself a good view of the assassin. She shielded her eyes from the sun which was glaring down at her, creating a halo around the devilish hired gun. "It was Leonardo's cart that managed to dismantle itself, not mine. I could have hitched a ride back in Firenze and been done with it."

She approached the side of the cart and put out a hand for him to grab. Being the gentleman that he was, Ezio gripped a hold of it and pulled her up, seating her next to himself. She shot a forlorn look at Leonardo, silently questioning why the hell she had to sit next to the flirt when Ezio took the reins and volunteered to drive the carriage.

It wasn't until they started actually moving that Margherita recalled why exactly she had typically avoided the hay-wagon ride every year at the Autumn Fest her town hosted a week before Halloween – the thing would jostle every which way and get her terribly motion-sick, which would eventually lead to her puking her guts up, as well as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Car rides were slightly better, but only if she had a good view out the window.

She had a half-hearted hope that she would not, in fact, vomit all over Ezio. Then again, maybe that would go him some good – put him off of her for a bit.

_Wait… wasn't something supposed to happen?_ she mentally questioned. She was almost certain something happened during the game-play that involved this stupid carriage… something that caused her way too much grief, to the point that she'd gotten her videogame-obsessed brother to finish the level for her…

Ezio cut Leonardo off right before an arrow lodged itself just behind them. Margherita gave a startled shriek and it wasn't until the carriage began to increase its speed tenfold that she realized the young inventor had climbed behind the passengers and was trying to pull her up from her seat and then down below, into the trunk part. She moved with no complaint.

"I'll try to lose them!" Ezio shouted over the grinding of the wheels and the pounding of the hooves, both behind and in front of them.

"Just stay down, Margherita," Leonardo exclaimed, bracing himself as well.

"Agh, Leonardo," Margherita groaned, "I don't feel so good."

"What?" the inventor raised his voice to be heard over the commotion.

"I don't -" that was all the girl was able to get out before the carriage gave a sudden jolt to the left, scraping a rock formation in the process.

All the contents of the wagon found reason in that moment to shift towards her, including Leonardo. As she was pushed up against the caged wall with part of the flying machine biting into her side and the painter resting on her leg – bending it at an awkward angle – a small groan sounded from her lips.

"Margherita, are you all right?" Leonardo struggled to push himself off her trapped appendage.

"Yes!" she attempted to console him, "Right as rain!"

And then came the fire. Archers began shooting arrows lit with flame that only seemed to spread as it hit earth. This made the ride even more hectic and jostled the passengers (prisoners?) beneath, severely. Then, when Ezio was unable to avoid a patch of flame, it leapt up onto Margherita's side of the carriage, nibbling at her flesh just enough to heat it, but not burn it. It was frightful, regardless, considering Margherita didn't have many good experiences with fire.

"Fire?" Margherita gave a shriek, "I'm gonna kill the idiot person who thought flaming arrows would spice up the chase sequence! Idiot programmers!"

"What was that?" Leonardo strained himself to ask.

"Nothing!"

"Leonardo!" came a cry from above, "Leonardo! Come grab the reins. It's me they want. Continue on and I'll meet up with you two later."

The inventor clambered up to the hatch and climbed out, grabbing the reins and wishing Ezio luck. Margherita caught a glimpse of white and red disembark from the rolling vehicle and gave a small prayer under her breath for his safety. Sure, she knew he survived – he _had to_ or else the game couldn't continue, but she had spent enough time here to forget occasionally that it wasn't actually real.

Just as she made a move to get to her feet and join Leonardo on top (the open air was better and she could therefore puke off the side of the wagon and not on the flying machine, for example… or her bundle of clothes) Leonardo shouted down, "Stay there, Margherita. Just wait until we reach some civilization." An after thought gave him pause before he asked, "Are you all right down there?"

"Uh," she slid back down clutching her queasy midsection, "Yeah, sure! Just hurry up, please!"

* * *

The first thing Margherita did upon reaching one of the villages that was a few miles out of Firenze was to climb out of that damn contraption, sit on the solid ground (Thank God and Gucci!) and then puke all down her front.

"Agh!" she groaned, trying to wipe the vomit from the front of her dress, "This is absolutely disgusting!" Finding no other alternative, she scraped her vomit-covered hands on the ground to finally rid herself of the worst of it.

"Here," Leonardo handed her a small tankard from the back of the wagon. After a swift gurgle and spit-out, she gulped at the water. Whenever she became physically ill from her motion sickness she was always terribly dehydrated.

Finally coming up for air after inhaling the water, she noticed Leonardo had disappeared. Something that wasn't terribly unusual (sometimes the man thought everyone could read his mind and predict his movements without him ever opening his mouth, like that) but was nevertheless a bit annoying. Rising slowly and with the help of the wagon's side, she noted the back of his head milling a ways off, amid a crowd of villagers.

Margherita rounded the wagon, taking care to avoid the horses strapped in front (those damn creatures had always frightened her), and sat back down on the other side, wanting to distance herself from her vomit and to have a good view of her absent-minded friend/mentor/master. Eventually he returned and began talking to her once she was in earshot, "Well, we have about two, three weeks till we reach Firenze and then we can catch a boat to Venezia. So, we should be right on time, assuming nothing impedes us."

With this last comment he dropped down beside her, with a great groan. Just as his back made contact with the wagon, a great screech was heard and the whole thing snapped. The two managed to crawl away, frantically and sat, kneeling in the dirt, watching as their only mode of transportation tilted grotesquely to the right and both of the right wheels rolled away. The horses in the front both reared and gave off loud exclamations of what was probably fear and disgruntlement.

"That seems like a problem…" a voice commented behind them.

Margherita barely had time to be grateful their resident assassin had returned to them unscathed before Leonardo fell into another bout of swearing, complete with hand gestures.

* * *

"Two weeks!" Leonardo nearly growled as he stalked back to his ragamuffin group of weary travelers. His customary hat was momentarily removed from his head and clenched in his shaking fist. Margherita wasn't sure she had ever seen him this angry – no, there was that time that one assistant hadn't cleaned Leonardo's paintbrushes thoroughly enough and had absolutely ruined a commissioned piece.

"We are stuck here for two weeks?" Margherita asked.

"Yes, _apparently _- " Leonardo threw an angry glance back at the town, "- no one can fix this."

"Including you?" Ezio ventured.

"I am intelligent," the inventor explained with a light growl to his tone. "Not a miracle worker!"

Margherita coughed and cut in, "So we need another wagon, yes?" hoping to steer him away from his unusual bout of fury.

Leonardo gave a tortured sigh and continued his earlier explanation, "I've sent for one. A friend of mine from Forli will buy a new wagon there and bring it here, hopefully within a few weeks. Then I can repay him."

"Which friend?" Margherita asked.

"Bartolo," Leonardo replied.

"Ah, but he is more my friend than yours, Leonardo."

"He was the best I could think of."

Margherita gave a little laugh, "Yes, but he's an idiot. Surely, he'll get lost."

Ezio frowned, wanting to return to the original subject, "So we wait a couple of weeks, and then we can set out for Venezia. That doesn't sound so bad."

Leonardo's face darkened as he set his hat back on his head, "That is not the worst of it, my friend. Because of our delay, we will miss our ship from Forli to Venezia."

"…yes…?" Margherita prodded.

"The next one does not leave for six months."

There was a deep silence amongst the group as everyone felt the weight of this revelation rest on their shoulders, slowly comprehending what it meant for their travel deadlines. Finally the only female spoke up, "So… it's going to take a little under _a year_ to get to Venezia?"

"Yes," her occasional teacher replied.

"Shit," Ezio drawled.

Margherita turned to the assassin, "You know, you can go ahead. Nope, no need for you to stick around here. Surely Venezia is in dire need of your immediate presence, yes?"

The assassin simply smirked and grabbed her hand, "And leave my favorite damsel-in-distress all alone? I think not." Leonardo opened his mouth to remind him that she would not, in fact, be all alone but shut it once he realized the futility. They were flirting again. Nothing could stop those two now.

"I think you are enjoying our plight far too much," she retorted but made no move to snatch her hand back.

Leaning over to give his customary peck upon the knuckles, Ezio paused, a horrid stench worming its way into his nostrils, "My God! What lotion have you been using on your hands, mademoiselle? It's wretched!"

He quickly released her hand and she yanked it up so she could waft it herself. Oh my. A bright red flush streaked across her pale complexion in embarrassment. She'd forgotten all about her little puking episode earlier. She hadn't had the time to wash her hands. Oops.

Silently Leonardo gave a smirk; it seemed poor hygiene could, in fact, deter those two from their flirtations. He must make a mental note of this and use it in the future.

To cover her mortification, she replied, "Yes, I suppose, but all the young ladies in town said vomit made their hands silky smooth."

There was a moment when the assassin was torn between disgust after realizing what exactly the stench was, and confusion that today's females actually submitted themselves to that kind of a beauty treatment. Once Margherita noticed his perplexed visage she snorted, "I'm joking, you imbecile. I got kind of carsick - "

Leonardo interrupted with, "What is 'carsick'?"

"Um, just, well, I threw up," she gestured to the soiled front of her dress, deciding that being vague with the inventor might be the best thing to do at this point, "because of all the motion. I'm fine now, though. Yup. Just peachy." She turned to Leonardo, "I'm assuming we will be staying at an inn?"

He nodded then pointed towards the masses of buildings.

Margherita hiked up her skirts (God, the fashion was beautiful but all the layers were so impractical) and, grumbling, followed the path Leonardo's finger had laid out for her. "Home, sweet home," she muttered.

"Cheer up, mademoiselle," Ezio appeared to her right and fell in step with her. Leonardo appeared on her left. The Auditore continued, "I guarantee that it will be quite fun sharing a bed with me."

Both Margherita and Leonardo replied in unison, "You'll be sleeping on the floor."

* * *

In reality, Ezio ended up with no bed at all, or even a floor for that matter. The poor playboy was forced to sleep outside, at the mercy of the elements. Upon arriving at the inn, Leonardo explained that he and his wife had been stranded when their wagon broke down and they required a room, as did his friend who was traveling with the young couple. There was only one room left available. One room, two groups. Luckily, the group with the delicate female was allowed housing.

_Poor Ezio_, Margherita had thought with a deviant smirk.

Leonardo took mercy on the part-time mercenary, however, and explained that Ezio could simply slip back into the second story room once night had fallen and sleep on the floor – as was the original plan. Ezio grudgingly agreed but was too impatient to wait until darkness arrived. Once he observed the inventor exiting the inn and making his way into town, Ezio made his move.

Margherita was reclining on the bed, half-heartedly sketching (she'd never really had much of a knack for it, certainly not like Leonardo did) when Ezio dive-rolled into the room through the opened window.

Startled, she jumped and blotched a thick line right across the parchment. "Shit!" she cursed, in English, "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Ezio gave her a furrowed-brow expression, obviously not comprehending her words. He crossed the room and set himself on the edge of her bed, "Oh yes," he began, replying in Italian. "Even with your accent, I often forget you're English."

She paused, letting her mind drift to their previous conversations (what, like, all three of them?) before realizing she'd never personally told him anything of the sort. "You've been gossiping about me, haven't you? With whom? Federico, I suppose?" She rolled off the bed, and stood, shuffling through her stuff until she found her satchel.

Ezio winced slightly at the mention of his deceased brother, giving a tight nod in reply before changing the subject to something perhaps a little more pleasant, "How exactly did you manage to get here?"

Stuffing the sketch pad back into her sack, she snarked, "I got here through the door - unlike some people." Ignoring Ezio's sarcastic laugh, Margherita dropped the bag back down on the floor with her other possessions and made her way over to the window, sticking her head out to glance upwards, "How _did_ you manage to get in here anyways?"

"The roof," he explained. "Want to go up there?"

He stood, crossed the room in two grand steps (yes, the chamber certainly didn't compare to the four-star hotels Margherita was used to) and climbed onto the windowsill, balanced on the small plank of wood. He turned and flashed her an award-winning smile.

"No," she retorted far too sharply.

His face dropped, "But the sunset is beautiful!"

"And I can see it from here. So, the thought is appreciated, but…no."

"Is it me?"

"You?"

"Me."

"No."

"Is it the sun?"

"The sun?"

"Yes, the sun. Do you have something against the sun?"

"No. What would I have against the sun?"

"Maybe you don't want it to ruin your complexion," he shrugged.

"It already has – I never used to have this many freckles."

"It's cute."

"You're delusional."

"You're afraid of heights."

Margherita tried to school her face into an unreadable expression, "What are you talking about?"

Ezio smirked, realizing he'd finally struck gold, "That's the only reason I can think of. Assuming, you do not in fact have a problem with me or the sun."

"You're wrong."

"Hm." Without another word, Ezio sprung up and threw Margherita over his shoulder, ignoring her kicking and screaming. He jumped back onto the windowsill, grunted a "hold on!" and climbed up onto the roof.

"What…the…_fuck!_" she smacked him with her opened palm anywhere she could reach as he slowly set her down on her feet.

In some attempt to evade her assault, Ezio took a step back and let go of her completely.

"Oh my god!" she said, reverting back to English. "Where the hell are you going?" When Ezio's only response was to cock his head to the side, confused once more, she stumbled forward to close the distance between them. Like hell she was going fall off this damn roof without bringing Ezio with her too. She gripped at his wrist, then his sleeve, then his forearm, working her way up till she could loop one arm around his bicep, the other hand gripping his shoulder.

Perfect damsel-in-distress positioning, she was certain.

"Ha!" the assassin exclaimed, "You _are_ afraid!"

Her only response was to give him a hearty swearing.

All Ezio could do was give a deviant laugh before sliding down onto the tiled and slanted roof, therefore bringing her down with him. "Ezio!" she groaned out some kind of high-pitched squeal, thoroughly frustrated at his antics.

Once again, Ezio simply laughed and threw her into his lap. Landing awkwardly, she grabbed him around his neck and held on for dear life. A little bit of adjusting later and they – or, Ezio at least – were comfortable.

"Now, mademoiselle, I shall get some answers out of you," he grinned down at her. "See, you deflected my earlier question."

"I suppose if I'm a _good little girl_," she snarked, "you'll put me back on solid ground?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"You just love that word, don't you? It makes you feel cultured, or something, right?"

Ezio ignored her and asked, "So how did you get here?"

"Fine. In a rare moment of stupidity-"

"Rare?" Ezio interrupted.

"Shut it, you idiot assassin! Anyways, in a _rare, _extremely rare, moment of stupidity, I hopped the wrong boat and ended up in Italy, not France. Happy?" She huffed, and would have crossed her arms had they not been the only thing keeping her from sliding down the slippery roof and onto the street below (at least, in her mind).

He didn't respond, however, just gazed off into the sunset but that didn't stop her from trying to catch his eye. Finally he asked, "Don't you have people in England who are missing you?" And she knew he was thinking about his family.

People who were missing her? That depended… if time continued on in both realms then over four years had passed. Her brothers would be starting college… she'd have been on her last year of college. Her mother would think she'd been kidnapped or killed or something. If anything, they were all missing from her. But like hell she was going to tell this idiot assassin that she'd cried herself to sleep just last night thinking about her home. Or that he was her only chance in getting back there.

Instead she just nodded.

"Then why are you still here?" he asked.

She settled for the simple answer, "I can't go back."

"Why not? Surely Leonardo would lend you – or even give you – the money to buy a ticket. He would even escort you, at least to France… he's spoken of going there, maybe."

"It's not that," she said. There was something in her voice that made him stop or maybe something in her eyes that he could only see right at that moment because they were so close or maybe he just understood what it was like to not be able to return home.

There was a thick silence as both of them stared at each other. Ezio's eyes drifted down to her lips before they rose again and glanced off towards the horizon. Margherita tried to follow his gaze until she realized that she couldn't look down without getting a nasty case of vertigo. Instead she just rested her head on his collarbone, hesitantly. When he didn't pull away or even tense, she relaxed against him. No, he wouldn't drop her.

"Margherita," his voice was a deep tremble as his throat vibrated against her forehead. "I owe you a debt. There are things I must do – missions I must complete, but when I do… after I'm done… I'll help you get home. No matter what."

She pulled her head back up and gave him an honest smile, "Thank you."

Slowly he returned the grin and once again his eyes focused on her lips. She, too, couldn't help glancing down at his perfect cupid-bow lips and chiseled jaw. It was slightly stubbly because he hadn't had a chance to shave in a while. An audible gulp slipped down her throat as she shifted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable with the proximity. In the back of her mind she realized she kind of felt trapped – if things went sour she was stuck up here. But, the more rational part of her mind knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

Apparently one should not shift unexpectedly while in the lap of a horny male, especially during such an emotionally charged moment. See, certain areas are sensitive. A look passed over Ezio's face, one that Margherita simply couldn't miss. She knew that face quite well.

With a smirk, she shifted again, more subtly this time and Ezio grunted, "Ye, mademoiselle, you are a troublemaker."

She knew men. Oh boy, did she know men. As a teenage girl living in America, she'd had her fair share of boyfriends, none of them very serious. Nearly all of her experience had come from being here. Her virginity had been lost to her rapist, and she couldn't bring herself to go all the way with any of her toys, but that didn't mean other things were off limits and the men in her life were always very appreciative.

God, if only her mother could see her now.

But, due to her extended study of the male specimens, she knew exactly why Ezio was suddenly so uncomfortable… or, perhaps, too comfortable. So, of course, she had to continue to whorishly torture the poor assassin. She shifted one way quickly, and then the other way, slowly dragging her backside across his lap.

With a soft moan Ezio lifted her off his lap and set her next to him, lecturing, "Don't start something you can't stop." She probably should have worried that she was not secure in his embrace anymore, but she was too busy having fun.

Margherita just smirked, "What if I have no intention of stopping?"

"You are terribly crude," he commented as he slid a fingertip down her ribcage. She shivered.

"And you are a terrible Casanova," she snorted as she reached across him, aiming for his favorite appendage, fully hoping to show him that two could play at that game and that he had no control over her.

"What's a Casanova?" Ezio asked, hardly paying attention to her actions. Suddenly he seemed to notice something that Margherita hadn't (probably with his mad assassin skills) and grabbed her wrist, muffling her protests with a finger to her lips, "Sh. Leonardo's back."

He quietly detangled himself and stood, then jumped straight off, swinging down into the room.

Margherita was left on top of the roof, suddenly very alone. The tiles suddenly seemed very slippery and she was scared out of her mind, "Hey, hey, Ezio? Leonardo? Someone help!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Yes, this is early. It's also pretty short in comparison to the newer chapters. I was bored. I was also nervous about this chapter… I just don't think a slut as an OC will fly with too many people, but I kinda want her to be morally corrupt. I figure if Ubisoft had the balls to make Ezio a man-whore, my main character can also have some ethical drawbacks.**

**Mostly, I just want to know what you'll think about this particular part of the character development. Usually, I don't ask for reviews because I'm terrible with reviewing the stories I read, but I would appreciate some feedback on the character. Love her; hate her; love that you hate her? Anything would be nice, I very much enjoy improvement.**

**So, enjoy!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

Margherita was lounging on the bed, scribbling in her careworn calculation book when Ezio sauntered into the room and threw himself on the bed right next to her. She simply ignored him – it was obvious he was bored and she'd rather not encourage him. The assassin began picking at the bedding before he rolled over onto his back. After a moment he rolled back over, watching the female intently.

"Where's Leonardo?" he asked.

"He's meeting Bartolo to pick up the wagon," she replied, absentmindedly.

Ezio snorted, "About time."

"Uh-huh," she grunted.

Suddenly Ezio frowned, "You need a break from that stupid book of yours," he said as he reached out an arm to grab at the book, hoping to remove it from her grasp.

"This stupid book," Margherita snarked, yanking the book out from his reach, "has all my life's work. I'll reach the sky, you'll see."

"You are afraid of heights, what good is making this balloon if you'll never use it?"

Margherita just sighed and glanced up at Ezio, "Because someone will use it. Someday. That's all that matters."

"Still, you can't do any work now, why obsess?"

"I can perfect the calculations," she said as she returned to work. "And therefore not crush any more merchant stalls."

He rolled onto his back laughing, "Oh yes, Leonardo told me about that!"

She didn't even bother to respond, instead stuck her face even closer to her scribblings. There was a deep silence between the two before Ezio decided to tease her some more. Twisting quickly, he spun back onto his stomach and made another move to grab the book. She knew he was joking, of course, because once again she was able to evade. If he was actually being serious, Margherita wouldn't have stood a chance against his mad assassin skills.

Instead of getting the book, however, Ezio ended up lying across her, still attempting to grab at her main focus. His neck was craned so as not to be squished into her breasts, one of his legs tangled between hers. Nearly all of his weight was on top of her, but she made no move to push him off. Years of healing had occurred between the famed "hay-stack incident" and now and Margherita didn't mind if he was on top of her – if anything _did_ happen she had her dagger in the folds of her dress.

This was the closest they had gotten throughout the weeks left in waiting since that first, rather eventful, night. She still hadn't exactly forgiven him for leaving her to blow in the wind up on the roof, even if he _had_ immediately returned to get her back down. Goodness, had he gotten a mouthful of oaths thrown at him the moment her feet were on solid ground and she no longer had to rely on him for a safe passage down.

Even Leonardo joined in the scolding, though for a different reason. Apparently if two young people spend some time in the oh-so-romantic scene of a sunset things may happen… things Leonardo had expressed to be "out of bounds" for a "man Margherita could rely on". _Yeah, _Ezio had thought _that's getting old._

And it was exactly in this position that Leonardo and Bartolo found them in when the two suddenly entered the room without even a knock.

There was a dark silence before Margherita, having a direct view of the door, noticed the two newcomers – especially the tall, young man who caught her eye and looked at the scene before him with confusion.

"Get off of me, you imbecile," she huffed and attempted to squirm away.

"Ah, mademoiselle," Ezio purred, sliding up her body to speak directly into her ear, "don't act like you don't like it." When she began frantically pushing at his shoulders, he glanced at her face and then followed her embarrassed gaze. "Oh," he stared to the two intruders – especially the giant gorilla standing next to Leonardo – before he noticed the inventor's dark gaze.

Springing off his prisoner, Ezio sulked to the corner allowing Margherita to also rise and cross the room to greet Bartolo. Everyone was surprised, Margherita included, when Bartolo's form of greeting was to catch her around the waist and give her a long, passionate kiss. A kiss Margherita seemed to be enjoying, all things considered.

Ezio gave the couple a glower as he thought, _Why can't I ever seem to be able to do that? It seems easy enough._ Then he snuck a glance at the still scowling Leonardo. _Oh yes, that's why._

Eventually the discomfort of the assassin and the inventor grew to the point that Leonardo finally gave a small cough and the couple pulled apart. Margherita at least had the decency to look sheepish as she apologized.

"You must be Bartolo," Ezio observed, crossing the room to also greet the man. He had to look up to him, which was something the assassin was actually unused to. Ezio had been blessed with height… this man must have had a lot of blessings.

"Yes, sir," he replied in a very deep baritone. And the two shared a nod of acknowledgment.

Bartolo was a rather tall man with very wide shoulders. This gave him an almost overly masculine aura, which his bearded face did nothing to correct. All in all though, he was a rather good looking man. And it seemed he and Margherita had a mutual understanding. _Good for her,_ Ezio thought, _at least that monster of a rapist hasn't taken from her the pleasures of good company. _Cocking his head at the taller man he recognized him from the first time Ezio had returned to Firenze to visit Leonardo; the man who had miserably failed charming the girl, or at least in Ezio's opinion.

"I'll be staying for the night," Bartolo said. "Will you all be setting out tomorrow since it's so late?"

Leonardo nodded, "Yes, it will do no good to leave when dark will fall within a few hours, and the rooms are paid for the night."

Bartolo asked, "How many rooms have you rented?"

"Just two." The inn had gained an available room within the first few days of their stay, and thus, Ezio received his very own bed in his very own room. While Margherita and Leonardo were left to share their original one since they still had to pretend to be married.

"Ah," Bartolo smiled down at Margherita before putting an arm around the girl's waist, "So, Margherita and I will share a room, and you two can share the other one. How does that work?"

Ezio did not fail to miss the frightened gaze Margherita sent Leonardo, before turning her wide eyes to the assassin himself. Why wouldn't she want to share a room with her beloved? This girl was so terribly strange. Either way, Leonardo reminded everyone, "Margherita and I had to pretend to be married. It would be more prudent for us to continue to share a room and for you to share with Ezio."

This took Bartolo a moment to comprehend, "But, you two aren't married… Are you?"

Leonardo opened his mouth to respond but Margherita beat him to it, "No."

"Are you sure?"

Ezio also did not fail to notice the way Margherita glanced off to the side and rolled her eyes. "I'm quite sure, Bartolo."

"And you aren't married to that guy," he pointed to Ezio, "'cause you two seemed awfully comfortable."

The groan of frustration got caught in the back of her throat as she swallowed it, "No Bartolo, I am not married. End of story."

"Oh, good."

With a deep sigh, her eyes locked onto Ezio's for a moment before she quickly averted her gaze.

* * *

The two men stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed…the single bed….the single bed that could not easily fit two people. Ezio glanced up at the giant and crossed his arms. Bartolo also crossed his overgrown appendages across his chest.

And then, the staring contest ensued. Finally Ezio decided to be the bigger man – if not literally, then at least figuratively.

"Well, my friend," Ezio began, "It seems we have a bit of a dilemma."

Bartolo nodded.

"So," the assassin continued, "I say… we flip a florin for it."

* * *

"You don't think they'll suffocate, do you?" Margherita asked as she slipped under the covers. She spoke in English, just as she typically did when she was alone with Leonardo. While her Italian was in constant use, Leonardo liked to stretch his English every once in a while.

"Suffocate?" Leonardo was rummaging within his bags but glanced up in confusion.

"Yeah, from all the testosterone."

Leonardo blinked for a moment, "What's testosterone?"

It was Margherita's turn to blink. To cover her mistake she turned over in bed so her back was facing the inventor, "Like, like manliness."

"Oh," Leonardo gave a small chuckle, "yes, I suppose they might have some difficulty breathing. Goodness only knows how they'll deal with the bed situation." As an afterthought Leonardo observed, "You English have the oddest words…'testosterone'."

Margherita just gave a weak laugh.

* * *

Bartolo made himself comfortable in the bed, while Ezio tried to find a position to lay in that wouldn't result in one of his many weapons poking him in the side. It wasn't until he was just on the outskirts of sleep did Bartolo speak up, disturbing his rest.

"I'm not very smart," he began. Ezio sat up slowly to get a better look at the young man who had since rolled over to also gaze at the assassin. "But I know what I saw, you two did look pretty comfortable."

Ezio tried to give a half-hearted shrug and a charming grin, "Eh, what can I say? She's a pretty girl…"

"And you're a handsome man," Bartolo finished. Given the earlier awkwardness regarding the bed, that comment did nothing to increase Ezio's level of comfort.

"Yes, well… I guess, so are you." The other man did not look convinced so Ezio added, "There has never been anything between Margherita and I and there never will be. Don't worry, she's all yours."

Bartolo gave a mirthless laugh, "Yes, all mine…" Suddenly he shook his head and sat up, "The thing about Margherita is, she can never be all of anyone's. There's always someone else. I met her a few weeks after she became Leonardo's assistant. I helped teach her Italian, did you know that? She was so pretty then, even before she grew her hair out and… I fell in love. I thought she was just a sweet girl, the way she'd smile at everyone… the way she'd talk to everyone. And then when she would kiss me one day and someone else the next day, I assumed it was because I had never formally asked for us to be exclusive.

"My father expected me to get married to one of his business partner's daughters, so I couldn't very well propose to Margherita without seriously disappointing my father – possibly being disowned. But I did it anyway. I love her, you know? Absolutely, fucking love her and I thought she would be all I would ever need. She thought the whole idea was hilarious! She thinks I'm an idiot, you know. Thinks I can't see what's going on all the time…" Bartolo began to clench the bed sheets in his hands. "But, anyways, she said she'd go along with it. Two days later I found her half naked with a fully naked friend of mine." Suddenly he hopped out of bed and began pacing in silence. Ezio followed him with his eyes from his position on the floor, leaning against the wall, trying very hard to figure out where this all was coming from.

"I confront her and all she says is, "Don't try to trap me," like somehow I made her cheat." He groaned into his hands and sat down on the bed with a thump, "I told her it was over but she said, "Why lose a good thing? We have fun, don't we?" So we just kept going… And when my father's business relocated to Forli I went with him.

"When I left she told me she loved me with all her heart, and _only_ me. And she writes to me. Often. And she tells me she loves me. But I still have friends in Firenze who write and tell me what she's been up to. She doesn't know that. She thinks the wool's still pulled over my eyes. Well, I've only been gone from Firenze for ten months. According to the rumors my friends have heard, she's tumbled with at least seventeen men since I've been gone." He looked Ezio in the eye and slowly shook his head in disbelief, "You know, I've never tumbled with her. Not in all four years I've known her."

Then, Bartolo slammed his hand into the bedding and gave a strangled groan, "Who does that? Who tells someone they love them and then fucks _seventeen_ guys?" There was a moment of silence before Bartolo gave another mirthless laugh, "Margherita, that's who. She has to have everyone with a penis wrapped around her little finger or else she bolts off like a wild animal. And how stupid am I for still loving her and sitting and hoping one day she'll change?"

A dark silence surrounded the two, each lost in their own thoughts before Bartolo turned to Ezio, "Sorry, I got a little carried away there. What I just wanted to say was don't get your hopes up and be careful, okay? That girl is fucked up. And if I didn't love her so much – even now, I'd probably strangle her."

Ezio gave a soft nod, letting this new information wash over him. Quietly, Bartolo lay back down and either drifted off into slumber, or became lost in thought – Ezio couldn't tell the difference. As it was, the assassin had trouble digesting everything. He had known of her faults but he never would have pegged her for a lying, sniveling cheater. Or a whore. He had come to consider the girl a friend… it was odd to realize someone you had once respected was so undeserving.

* * *

"Pass me that firewood, please, my friend," Leonardo requested.

Ezio readily did so, then glanced back at Margherita. She had spoken little since they had said goodbye to Bartolo and that small village that morning. Instead, she'd just stuck her head back into her calculations as the new wagon bounced along the trails. And now they had stopped for the night and she was still silent. This wasn't too much of a problem, considering Ezio didn't have much to say to her.

"So, Ezio," Leonardo began, "Margherita and I were wondering last night how you two faired, what with such a small bed and such an overwhelming amount of – what was the word, Margherita? – oh, yes, testosterone."

Ezio had no idea what the hell "testosterone" was, but he decided to simply shrug and nonchalantly mention, "No, no, it was fine. We spent a while talking, though."

This caused Margherita's head to rise sharply. She made hesitant eye contact with Ezio, before returning to her work.

"Ah, yes, anything interesting?" Leonardo inquired.

"Yes, it seems…" Ezio trailed off and never lifted his eyes from Margherita's slouched form, "that he and Margherita were engaged at one point."

Nearly dropping her book she stood with a jerk, "What did he tell you?"

"Everything. Including how that engagement was broken up. And how much he loves you. And how miserable he is."

Snapping her book closed, Margherita bent and stuffed it into her bag, muttering over her shoulder, "He's an idiot."

"That idiot," Ezio said, "realizes a lot more than you think he does."

"But that doesn't mean he does anything about it!" her voice rose, uncharacteristically. "If that _man_," she hissed, "had any sense in his brain, he'd get over it and leave. It just shows how stupid he is."

"So you're just using him for sex, then?" Ezio asked, standing up.

"What do you care? You use women for sex all the time. What's the difference?"

With a grunt Ezio crossed his arms, "I care because Bartolo is a good man. Who loves you. And respects you. And treats you well, even if you don't return the favor. And that is the difference between what you do and what I do. All the ladies I bed know that it's a harmless fling, they know not to expect anything in return. I don't make _promises_ I know I won't keep. Promises I blatantly ignore. I don't tell a woman I love her and then bed seventeen other women in her absence."

There was a flicker of confusion that made its way across her face, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me – I would never cheat that blatantly."

She shook her head, "Yes, but you made it sound like_ I_ had."

"Well, yes," Ezio began. "Bartolo told me that he'd heard reports of you bedding at least seventeen other men while he has been away at Forli."

Her eyebrows shot together in anger, "I will have you know, I have not once had sex – never once bedded a man – never once had a lovely roll in the hay with _anyone_. Not… not willingly, at least. So whatever those rumors are – they are false and you are a scoundrel for judging me by them!"

The assassin faltered a moment, trying to regain his ground, "But you don't deny that you've been lying to Bartolo, then?"

"Would you just leave it alone, Ezio?" she gave a deep groan, that got caught in the back of her throat and ended with a whimper as a result. "It's not any of your business!"

"That Bartolo is a respectable man. And you are being foolish with your actions! Blatantly manipulating him…" Ezio trailed off.

Suddenly Leonardo, who had abstained from the conversation before now, chose to speak, "He's right, Margherita. I've seen what you do, but I didn't honestly think it was harming anyone, until now."

"Leonardo, please," Margherita clasped her hands together, "stay out of this. Both of you, just leave me alone."

"I'm just trying to figure out why, Margherita, that's all. Why do you do these things?" Leonardo asked. When she didn't reply, just looked away, he continued, "Is it because of your rape?"

At this her eyes shot back to the inventor, wide and frightened, "Just leave it alone," she retorted tersely.

"Is it honestly a power struggle? Simply you trying to win back the control you lost by making other men feel powerless to you?"

Ezio nodded, "Yes that sounds like a good excuse," he commented harmlessly.

"_Excuse?_" her voice cracked and her eyes blazed. "There is no excuse! No rhyme! No rhythm! I do _'what I do'_ because I can! Okay, so leave off it! God…" she trailed off and took to pacing before suddenly stopping and pointing a finger at Ezio, "And where the fuck do you get off judging me? You kill people. You're a filthy murderer and you have the nerve to tell me my games are worse than when you gut a person like a fish?" The flash of hurt in his eyes didn't stop her. "God, what would Federico say if he saw you mercilessly slaughter someone like you do on a _daily basis_?"

Ezio took two quick steps towards her, and raised a hand. When she flinched back, suddenly very frightened and very vulnerable, and when Leonardo's panicked call of "Ezio!" rang out, he paused. Then he sighed and lowered his arm, before lifting a single finger to point it at her, "I have never raised my hand to a woman before. Nor do I ever want to. So don't tempt me."

The combination of the pointing finger and the look of pure rage and judgment in Ezio's eyes forced Margherita to feel totally isolated. She wondered, brokenly, if this was how Hester had felt as she had stitched that scarlet letter onto her breast. And then, she just felt fury.

Leonardo tried to interrupt with a comment about how Ezio shouldn't be so violent and Margherita shouldn't have hit him so low but Margherita just said over her shoulder, still overwhelmed with rage, "Oh, shut it, you fag."

There was a heart stopping minute when her dearest friend and treasured mentor stared back at her. And then his face crumbled. He slouched and tried to give a weak smile before failing and walking off, calling over his shoulder, "I'll get more firewood."

The two remaining arguers both glanced at the abundant pile already lying there. They didn't make eye contact again as Ezio sat back down and Margherita walked off to the wagon, tears already streaming down her face.

She was angry, God she was angry. Her life made sense. She had fun. She matched wits with men (so what if they called it flirting) and succeeded in winning the battle by reducing them to a half –coma state when she pleasured them (so what if they called it being slutty). And it got her through the day. She would wake up in the morning happy that she could say to herself her rapist hadn't made her totally powerless… she could fight him now, could fight him every single time she kissed a boy, or stroked a boy, or sucked a boy. She had her power back.

It was wrong, and she knew this on some level. Knew that Bartolo reminded her so much of one of her little brothers… the way he'd always be cheerful, the way he'd follow her around and try to impress her. Which was probably why she told him that she loved him… on some level (the level that knew it was wrong) she realized she loved him like a brother and wanted to share that bit of information with him. She hoped it would make him feel better. That stupid boy.

Stupid, stupid boys. All of them.

She had honestly never felt more ashamed… not even when she'd been raped. At least then, she had been able to blame that monster. Now, only she was at fault.

And she tried to quiet her sobs.

* * *

When day broke the following morning they all rose and set out together. Not a word was spoken. Margherita tried to follow the beat the wheels made against the ground to the pounding of her heart, but it seemed her organ was being rather speedy today.

They paused at midday to eat a poor attempt at lunch. Sitting under the shade of a tree, the silence was so deafening as they all sat together that Margherita got up and walked back to the wagon. It wasn't until she reached the wagon that she realized there were footsteps behind her. She turned to find Leonardo.

He gave a weak smile and she tried to return it. Instead, it faltered and she dissolved into tears again, "I – I shouldn't have said that, Leonardo."

Simply nodding, he put his arms around her and let her cry as she continued, "That was such a stupid thing for me to say. You aren't – you didn't deserve that. I'm so ashamed." Suddenly, she pulled back and looked up into his eyes, "Please say you'll forgive me."

"Of course, my dearest student," Leonardo released her, "You know I only ever want what's best for you, right?" She nodded. "And that this behavior of yours is self-destructive. I know that Bartolo isn't the only man you do this to. And I honestly don't think it makes you happy. At least, not as happy as you could be. As it were, I shouldn't have pushed you as hard as I did. For that, I am sorry."

Margherita shook her head, "No, no, no, you have nothing to apologize for, please don't think you do."

"Fine, then," Leonardo smiled again. "Now, I think you know what you must do next, yes? Ezio doesn't kill for the fun of it. He is fighting the Templars and is trying to avenge his family."

"I know, I know," she sniffled, before wiping her face. If she was going to do this, she wasn't very well going to look like a crybaby in front of the assassin. And so, she walked back to camp while Leonardo remained at the wagon, hoping to give the two some alone-time.

Ezio was not facing her as she spoke up and began, "Ezio? Um. I was out of line. I know why you chose the path of an assassin, and I don't think you're wrong for doing… what you do." When he didn't respond for a moment, she continued, suddenly distressed that he wasn't going to accept her apology, "Listen, okay. That day… well, those two days – we both were forced to grow up really fast, okay? You found your purpose. I found my defense. We are both dealing with it in different ways. I should never have judged you. Please understand. I'm sorry."

There was a ringing pause. Margherita felt her heart jump up to her throat and then down to between her knees, and then right back up again. Finally Ezio held up a piece of bread, still facing the other way, "I saved you a slice," was all he said, but it was enough for her to realize he had accepted her apology and their friendship was restored. And that, quite honestly, was enough. Even if she would have preferred him to have added 'mademoiselle' to the end of it, it was all alright again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I've got to tell ya'll, all the positive feedback I got from the last chapter and even just the fact that the page views spiked considerably has lead me to posting _another_ chapter. Yup. Ya'll are getting spoiled. Worry not, there'll still be a chapter Sunday (I forgot to mention that last time – oops). This is just a present. Please enjoy! You're all wonderful!**

**Also, the rating has officially gone up, my language is so terrible that it was necessary. I would have liked to have waited till later, when adult situations (hehe) develop, but my cursing has gotten out of hand and I have no intention of censoring myself. Please don't mind my humor!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

"Hey, why don't you go suck a dick?"

"You know I'd rather _you_ be the one on your knees…"

Margherita quickly jutted forward, aiming an opened palm at the man.

The stupid prick and his little gang of friends had started harassing her as she was trying to maneuver in the crowd. Apparently when a pretty girl bumps into a man in a swarming market, that is _obviously_ a sign that she wants some attention. And so, this group of men decided to give her that attention… in the form of obscene cat-calls.

She, Leonardo and Ezio had arrived in Forli after weeks of travel and had rented out a small house as they waited patiently (sometimes) for their ship to arrive. Living with two men had seemed like a daunting experience, but she quickly adapted… It was kind of like living with her two younger brothers again…only Leonardo was much more mature than either of her brothers had been and Ezio was much more of a pervert.

As it was, there were only two days left until the boat to Venice arrived. And apparently trouble decided to show its head _now._ Honestly, her life must have been cursed. Peace, quiet, solace for months on end and suddenly shit starts now.

The aforementioned prick managed to move out of the way, with enough time to grab her wrist and yank her forward. Margherita barely had time to blink before her appendage was surprisingly released and the man jerked back, ending up flat on the ground.

Suddenly, her line of vision was blocked by the white and brown and red of Ezio's usual and customary attire. There was a brief moment in which Margherita felt something similar to relief (Good Gucci, did that man have perfect timing) before she wondered how exactly the assassin had known she needed help. He came to stand protectively in front of her, holding an arm out to push her even farther away from the attacker. His stance was rigid, but graceful, "Eh, don't you guys know how to talk to a lady?" he asked.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?" the prick asked. Then, as though breaking out of a mild and probably idiocy-induced coma, the gang members tried to jump Ezio. With a swift kick and a few punches they were easily dispatched, no match for the wizened killer. Even Margherita had had some difficulty keeping track of his movements – the dude was kick-ass fast. Writhing on the ground, they tried to curse Ezio, but the affect was lost as they kind of resembled worms bowing before the mighty eagle (that my friends, was a metaphor).

"Well, well, well," Ezio took a few steps closer to them, before falling into a squat position next to the leaders head. Margherita could tell by his tone that he had a smirk painted on his face. Bastard was enjoying playing the savior. "I will give you a bit of advice my friend, you should not attack a lady like that in my presence… I tend to take it the wrong way, especially if I am good friends with that particular lady."

The assassin was not paying attention to the other members so when one miraculously recovered and quickly got to his feet, pulling a knife, Ezio couldn't see… Margherita could, however. "Ezio!" she called, hoping she would have warned him in time.

Barely bothering to look over his shoulder, Ezio turned, swiped out a leg and succeeded in knocking the asshole to the ground again. Then, he sprung up and slammed a foot down mercilessly onto the knife-wielder's wrist. The would-be attacker released the weapon with a sharp scream.

_Hm,_ Margherita mentally commented, _Maybe he does have the situation more under control than I thought. I really should give him more credit. _

Crossing his arms, Ezio surveyed his work with a small smile, before nodding in satisfaction and turning to Margherita. "You, mademoiselle," he said, "can't seem to stay out of trouble."

She huffed, swiftly abandoning her earlier thoughts, and spun around, intending to go straight back to the house. Stupid, bi-polar assassin. When Ezio fell in step next to her she barely glanced at him. It was odd, she had noticed. Ezio could be a deadly assassin, a jungle cat, large and graceful one moment and then a goof-off young man the next. Sometimes she forgot what he did for a living. Other times, it was impossible for her not to notice…. Like, now.

Speaking of forgetting… why had she left the house again? Oh, yes, Ezio had spilled some spiced wine (the first bottle Leonardo had been able to get his hands on in a while, and Margherita's favorite beverage) onto her dress, causing a huge stain to blossom right on the skirt. In a spot no female should have that particular shade of red without people getting the wrong idea regarding her monthly visitors. (And goodness, had she gotten grief from her resident males). Now she needed a replacement. She was hoping the tailor had something premade and that required little alterations since they were leaving the day after tomorrow and she would prefer to arrive in Venezia with style. (Oh, the affects of being a devoted Vogue reader).

Swiftly turning, she headed back in the opposite direction, toward the way she had originally been going. The tailor was in the very middle of town. Ezio continued to follow her, barely breaking his stride when he turned around with her.

"Do you honestly want to come shopping with me?" she asked, breaking the momentary silence. "Because that's the only reason I can think of for you to have just shown up like that from out of the blue. Unless, you were stalking me."

"I was simply watching your back," he said, "You should be grateful."

"I could have handled it…"

The assassin didn't even dignify that blatant falsehood with a response. Instead he shrugged and said, "My work here is done, and Leonardo probably needs me to help pack. He has no upper-body strength." Ezio suddenly took off to the right and hopped onto a crate. "Be certain to get something that shows off that nice chest of yours!" he called before he turned and scaled the wall, disappearing onto the other side of the building.

Margherita just continued on, shaking her head. Pervert.

* * *

Leonardo nodded his approval at her choice and Ezio simply let his eyes rove over her form. All the alterations had been finished the day before and Margherita had picked it up just this morning. They were setting out for the boat, but she had insisted on changing first.

The new dress was linen and involved a low-cut bodice (_not_ for Ezio's sake), an A-line skirt, and short capped sleeves, all in a light blue. Luckily, her white undershirt had been spared the accident and so it's long hanging sleeves were exposed. She also left her hair down except for the top part which she braided, weaving a blue ribbon into the plait. Her head was then topped with a white linen hood. The only thing that didn't match was her black fingerless glove on her right hand, forever hiding her scar. She also lined her eyes with kohl and used some vermilion to darken her lips, choosing to bypass putting mercury on her cheeks, even if it was rather popular during this time period.

Despite the men's protesting, she grabbed two bags and the group made their way to the boat together. Margherita could have sworn that Ezio and Leonardo hadn't arrived together in the game, but she also didn't recall the wagon breaking down. Briefly she wondered if her added weight had anything to do with it and found herself quite offended. She decided it didn't matter as the group arrived at the boat. Leonardo showed his and Margherita's passes, and would have continued onto the boat had Ezio not been stopped.

"Where's your pass?" the straggly bouncer asked Ezio as he tried to follow Leonardo and Margherita onto the ship.

"What pass?" Ezio asked.

"Oh my God, honestly Ezio, we've been here for months!" Margherita shook her head. "Surely you knew you needed to procure a pass for the voyage?" In the back of her mind, she _did_ remember he had forgotten the pass in the game, and therefore felt mildly guilty for scolding him. It was fun, though.

"You don't have a pass?" Leonardo cut in.

"You can not enter Venezia without a pass," the bouncer explained. "Who invited you?"

Ezio gave a small shrug, "Um… nobody." Then, he flashed his trademark grin in some attempt at buying sympathy.

It simply wasn't working on the bouncer, "No pass, no entrance."

So Ezio turned back to his companions, "Don't worry, I'll think of something."

Just then, a woman's voice made its way to the group, "Don't just stand there! I need help."

Ezio glanced at the distressed woman, then back at his friends, before lifting his eyebrows as if to say _I told you something would turn up, ye of little faith_ and taking off in the direction of the screaming. Leonardo shook his head sadly at the assassin's retreating back before gesturing for Margherita to follow him onto the boat.

Just as they finished loading the last of their cargo down below, Ezio made his way on deck and greeted them with a mock bow, "See, friends, don't underestimate my abilities."

Instead of responding, Margherita simply walked past him to lean on the side of the boat. If carsickness was bad, seasickness was ten times worse. She really hoped she didn't ruin this new dress. As her two boys came to stand beside her, Leonardo warned, "Be careful Ezio." The inventor glanced down at the woman, "Do you know who that was?"

The whole group turned their eyes on the female – Caterina, wasn't it? Margherita tried to remember – and she looked the older woman up and down. If the graphic programmers did no justice to Ezio, they truly scandalized Caterina. The woman had hair caught somewhere between brown and orange, that was actually beautiful and curled perfectly. The way she walked suggested dominance in all things, and her figure was plump enough to satisfy men of this century but proportional enough to even have satisfied the men of Margherita's century. And she was witty, that much the younger girl knew. Just Ezio's type.

"My next conquest?" Ezio joked… sort of. Probably not, all things considered.

"I don't think so," Leonardo chuckled over Margherita's snort, "That's Caterina Sforza, daughter of the Duca di Milano. Her husband - "

At this Ezio cut him off, with a rather high-pitched exclamation of, "Her husband?"

"Yes," Leonardo said, gesturing with his hand. "Her husband is the Lord of Forli. That woman is as powerful and dangerous as she is young and beautiful."

Ezio simply turned to lean on the side of the ship, glancing upward, "Sounds like my kind of lady."

This time, Margherita's snort went uninterrupted, "Dude, keep it in your pants."

Was she being a wee bit snarky, all things considered? Yeah, yeah she was. Did she care? Of course not. Maybe she secretly harbored a crush on the assassin, but she hadn't realized it yet because the author of her own personal fanfiction story was using it as a plot device? Maybe, but unlikely. She hoped her author wouldn't be that unoriginal.

She had her own idea about her slightly (sort of) irrational response. See, Margherita wasn't stupid. She knew it was most likely, simply, because Caterina was a very beautiful woman and the idea that there was a woman prettier than Margherita herself somewhere in Forli was a bitter medicine to swallow. It wasn't anything any girl wanted to admit – that someone else was more beautiful. Especially not for someone as vain as Margherita.

Besides, these were her boys they were talking about – her roommates, her friends. She'd mentally promised herself that she would protect Leonardo from the harpies that just wanted his money (seeing as he also had no interest in them whatsoever as it was) and Ezio from the sluts who just wanted him for a good lay. And since Caterina was a rich heiress, of course the only use she'd have for Ezio would be his long list of experience. And sure, the assassin certainly wouldn't mind being taken advantage of but if Margherita was being forced to cut back, goodness knows she'd have no problem being a very productive cock-blocker in her own form of vengeance.

Yes, she'd been forced to downsize since that lovely little argument on the way to Forli months before. Her two boys had kept her sweet and honest – you know, for her own good. Her own, moral, good. Her lovely, precious, immortal soul. The rules: no unfelt declarations of love. ("Like I'm going to make the same mistake twice," she'd responded.) Check. No juggling two paramours at the same time. ("You people suck," she'd grunted) …Check. Nothing sexual within the first month of knowing the person. ("You've got to be kidding me! Want to buy me a chastity belt while you're at it?"). …Oh my God… _Check._

So, yeah, she was definitely disgruntled that her resident assassin was out and about, while they had practically shoved her into a metaphorical convent. _Get thee to a nunnery, _she quoted Hamlet before scoffing,_ My ass. I'd rather drown thanks all the same. Damn, maybe Ophelia had the right idea._

"Ah," Ezio began, smirking at the girl, even if he couldn't understand what this "dude" thing she constantly mentioned was, "it _is_ in my pants. And that is the problem."

"Oh my fucking God," she groaned, before beginning to stalk towards the stairs that lead back down below, scowling at him over her shoulder, "Well, maybe you should stay behind and fix that little problem – and I mean _little_ problem – then meet up with us in Venezia six months from now. Sounds like a plan, yes?"

Margherita had barely turned fully around when two arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against the solid piece of armor. She didn't even have time to squeak out a protest before Ezio dipped his mouth to her neck and placed butterfly kisses gently, then whispered in her ear in a husky voice, "_You_ could always fix that _big_ problem of mine."

Releasing her just enough so that she could turn around in his embrace, Ezio stared down at her. And she stared right back up at him. Neither was going to make the first move… they never did. Margherita would have liked to have been able to say that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but sadly, she could not. They both certainly got their fills from some of the flings they'd had with the villagers in Forli, but it was always a game of chicken with them… who would flinch first, who would pull back.

Intimacy was a thing to twist and turn – it was quite flexible. It was Margherita's weapon, and Ezio's distraction. It was at time-killer and it was fun. Sex was a game for both of them. And neither would give into the other, because that would mean losing. And they did not like to lose.

Then, suddenly, a voice broke out behind them, "Ezio, Margherita, stop being childish."

The assassin glanced up at Leonardo, then back down at Margherita, giving her a simple shrug. They both knew that Leonardo never understood the way they did, how these exchanges worked. Suddenly, a look passed over Margherita's face and she quickly broke out of Ezio's hug, rushing to the side of the boat. Breakfast presented itself again as it sailed into the sea.

And then everyone was serious.

"Margherita! What's wrong?" came Leonardo as he showed up next to her.

"Are you ill?" Ezio asked, as he came to stand on her other side. He turned to the inventor, "Is she ill?"

"Seasick," she managed to get out, just before another bout of nausea struck her.

"Ah," the assassin exhaled, relaxing against the edge of the boat, "Well, this is going to be a long trip, isn't it?"

Margherita could only groan.

* * *

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep?" Ezio whispered.

Margherita tried to shrug, before she realized that it simply wasn't possible without making her truly want to vomit… for the flippin' millionth time. Instead she gave a weak smile and whispered back, "Yeah, maybe if I lay still, it won't be so bad."

Ezio nodded, before glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping Leonardo. He'd rather not weak up the inventor; as it was, he was surprised he'd been allowed to sleep next to Margherita – Leonardo was a terrible cock-blocker, even when the situation was totally innocent.

After night had fallen at sea, all the passengers had retreated to down below, preparing for sleep. Even when it had become too dark to see very well, Margherita had remained on deck, beseeching the two males to go to bed, she didn't need them to stay. After much persuasion, they had set up their bedspreads (Margherita's included) and Leonardo had fallen asleep almost instantly – the man was an early bird, while Ezio had always been a night prowler. As such, the assassin had been wide awake when Margherita finally stumbled down below, explaining that she didn't think she had anything left in her stomach to give to the sea.

"Have you ever been on a ship before?" he asked, once he was certain their talking wasn't going to awaken the other man (the other passengers and crewmembers be damned). Before she could respond, he suddenly remembered, "Wait, you have been! When you came to Italy from England, yes?" Without waiting for her to answer, he asked, "So how did you survive that?"

Margherita had to pause for a moment. In all honesty, she'd never been on a boat before. With good reason. She was well aware of the fact that if her carsickness was that sensitive, being at sea would be torture. No cruises, no sailboats, no rafts… maybe a floaty-thing at the pool… did that count? As it was, she had no idea how to relieve herself of this sickness.

So, she lied through her teeth, yet again. And felt a little guilty. Ezio didn't deserve to be lied to, he'd always been honest with her (sometimes terribly inappropriately honest) but that was one can of worms she couldn't possibly stomach at the moment. "I ended up half starved but got tons of sleep."

Ezio nodded, and turned on his side to face her, "Then get some rest, okay?" Gingerly, so as to not make her feel even more ill, he reached out his hand and gently brushed some of her blonde hair from her face. Then he placed his palm on her cheek, reaching around to the back of her neck, then to the small of her back. He pulled himself across his own bedspread, onto part of hers, holding her in place. "This way I can make sure you lay still," he explained.

Without responding, she did exactly as she was told, burying her head into his chest.

* * *

Thankfully, the days passed quickly and her body adapted to the shifting tides enough that she was able to stomach some food that didn't immediately come back up. Margherita still wasn't sure how to respond to Ezio's sudden caring. Sure, the man would do anything for the people he cared about (he was just passionate that way), but she hadn't totally thought herself deserving of that kind of title yet. Maybe he was simply sympathetic to her plight. It didn't matter, she decided.

This time, she didn't even bother to play the inventive feminist, and simply exited that goddamned ship without any baggage. The stupid boys could grab it. The moment her feet touched something solid, that did not in fact sway at the mercy of the tides, she nearly tripped – it felt like her bones, muscles, and skin had all gone to jello… she couldn't support herself.

"Margherita! Are you alright?" Leonardo called out from the deck, struggling with the bags, as he noted her sudden descent to the ground.

She waved from her sitting position, "Yeah! I'm just so happy!" As a group of people passed and gave her a dirty look, she scrunched her nose at them and exclaimed, "What do you think you're looking at? There's nothing to see here!" And suddenly a handsome young man caught her eye. Within a moment, she went from indignant spectacle to pouting damsel-in-distress. And he definitely fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

The man crossed the bustling street to kneel in front of her, on one knee, "Are you alright, Miss?" His look of concern may or may not have been sincere. To Margherita, it didn't matter.

"Oh, yes, I was just terribly muddled by the stable ground… that voyage was very long," she looked down in some semblance of timidity, before glancing up at him from behind her eyelashes.

"Well, then, let me assist you," the young man said as he gently grasped her hands and tugged her up as he stood. Once she was on both her feet, her legs having recovered, she took a slight step forward so as to be a wee bit closer to the young man. Now she was sincerely glad she'd thought to reapply her kohl and lip paste before departing the boat. He smiled down at her, "And what is your name, beautiful?"

"Margherita!" The girl flinched at Ezio's voice as it sailed through the crowd. Suddenly the assassin appeared next to them, shooting a charming grin at Margherita's potential First Official Venezia Fling. "The tour guide is here, c'mon." Using his free hand, the assassin grabbed her wrist and began yanking her, quickly, away from the man. Several times she tripped, but managed to catch herself before she tumbled to the ground. Once they had reached a safe distant from the young man, she tore her arm from his grasp.

"What… the… hell?" she hissed.

"You'll thank me later," Ezio responded.

"Oh, yes, and why is that?"

"He looked shady."

"He looked _hot_."

"Hot?" Ezio asked, "He didn't seem warm…"

"Oh my God," Margherita groaned, but didn't bother to explain. Instead she stalked off to where she could see Leonardo and their tour guide waiting for them. Damn pesky assassins. She'd have her fix, whether they liked it or not.

* * *

Margherita honestly couldn't pay too much attention to the tour guide. Sure, she was busying herself with absorbing the scenery, gazing at the buildings and the canals that ran all along the city. Good Gucci, she vaguely remembered how, when playing the game and being pursued by guards, she would simply jump from atop a high building and hope she landed in some water and not a street. Only a few times was she successful, so she had a bit of a beef with these canals.

Trailing behind Ezio, she watched as his eyes stayed trained on the area around them – he was a true predator, taking in the sites and planning how they could be used to his advantage. Sometimes, he could be serious. Margherita just needed to remember this. She continued to shuffle behind the group until they reached the market.

It smelled like fish. Ick.

"No other city can match the size of Venezia's markets," the short tour guide explained. He turned to Margherita with a smile that made her bones freeze. _Don't get any ideas, bub,_ she thought. She had no intention of lowering her standards that much, even if she was kind of desperate. Then the man continued, "Be it spices or silk, from near and far, there is… there is…"

The group turned to follow his eyes, which were now focused on the guards approaching a stall. "You were told to stay at home!" the lead guard exclaimed.

Margherita took a step closer to Ezio, involuntarily. Men in uniform had since become a bit of a nightmare for her… probably having something to do with the fact that her rapist had been a guard… maybe not. Who knew?

"But the rent is paid!" the man behind the table expostulated. "I have every right to sell here!"

"Emilio disagrees!" the head guard drew his sword and Margherita couldn't help the gasp that came from her lips – she honestly thought for a second that the guard was going to kill the man. Ezio glanced at her, catching the noise she had made, before turning back to the scene, satisfied that she was just frightened, not in distress. Instead, the guards began to destroy the man's stall. Margherita had no idea who this Emilio man was, but she hoped Ezio eventually killed him. And soon. And painfully. The dick.

"Let us continue… elsewhere," the guide suggested. Leonardo was quick to nod, but Ezio hesitated a moment, wanting to see if there was anything he could do, before realizing he couldn't. He turned to follow and nearly bumped into Margherita who has standing nearly on his heels, having been watching the disagreement from over his shoulder. When she made no move to even tear her eyes away from the dismayed stall owner, Ezio grabbed her arm gently. She finally glanced up and Ezio gestured with his head that they should follow their retreating group. Not for the first time today, she allowed herself to be dragged down the street.

When he was confident she could walk all on her own, Ezio released his grip on Margherita, and they continued their tour. Suddenly, Leonardo spotted something being sold at one of the vendors – an artist's model, Margherita realized as she got a better look. Hm, she had one of those things at home… the 21st century one, that is. The artist picked it up, "Look! Isn't it amazing?" Then he looked a little sheepish, "Would you mind buying it for me?" he asked Ezio. "I… uh, left my money in my bags."

Margherita was just about to assure her mentor that she had money on her person (which was technically his, but semantics are pointless) when a group of street urchins raced past them. Ezio took a step into the crowd to follow them with his eyes, assessing if they were a threat or not when one of the ragamuffins plowed straight into him. By the jingle of coin, even Leonardo could tell the rascal had tried to pickpocket Ezio. What he (she, actually, Margherita recalled… yes, this was Rosa, wasn't it?) failed to realize was that after that incident with La Volpe Ezio had become very secure about his finances.

Yes, that had been quick to get laughs out of Margherita and Leonardo when Ezio had told them the story one night, under the starlit sky on their way to Forli. Leave it to Ezio to be so arrogant that he'd leave his purse straps loose.

"Watch your step, punk!" Ezio called after the rogue. Then he/she/it turned and the group caught sight of her very feminine face. As a precaution, Ezio checked his purse to find it just as secure as he'd left it.

And then they reached the Palazzo della Seta. The tour guide explained Emilio's quest to unify the merchants under a single banner, and that some merchants had resisted because they wanted freedom. Nonsense, he'd called it. Margherita inwardly scoffed; as an American and a product of a democracy, freedom was something she admired.

Ezio suddenly stood straighter and squinted his eyes towards the entrance to the Palazzo. Margherita (who probably had always needed glasses, but refused to get them for fear of looking nerdy – not everyone can pull off geek chic) couldn't see what exactly he was looking at, lead alone hear from this distance, but Ezio seemed totally focused on whatever was happening at the front gate, being able to both see and hear what was going on. All she could see were men… guards, she supposed, by their uniforms, and a protesting man.

Finally, shouts of "No! Stop!" could be heard, and Margherita turned to Ezio, "What's going on?"

He glanced at her, hesitated, then replied, "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

And they continued their tour. Finally, they reached Leonardo's new workshop. "…Venezia enjoys having you," the tour guide finished, giving an elaborate bow. When Leonardo simply patted him on the shoulder and continued towards the door, the guide's face dropped – poor man had been expecting a tip. Margherita, being used to smoothing over Leonardo's social blunders (Dear Prada, the man was an absentminded genius), placed three florins in the man's hand. When he leered up at her, she almost regretted it. But the guide quickly departed and Leonardo turned to Ezio.

"So here we are!" he said, "Exciting, isn't it? Care to come in?"

"Maybe later," Ezio replied, "I need to visit the Palazzo della Seta. Try and gain an audience with Emilio."

Leonardo tried not to look hurt, "As you wish. But should you find yourself with free time or another Codex page, don't hesitate to visit. My door is always open."

"Thanks, my friend." Ezio replied, his mind obviously elsewhere. Even when Leonardo opened his arms for a hug, the assassin didn't notice until the artist had already lowered his arms.

"It's nothing," Leonardo replied, before turning around and entering the house.

And then just Margherita was left. "Well then," she said, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, "See ya." And she made to follow, hot on Leonardo's heels.

Ezio's voice stopped her, "Margherita?" She turned around and he continued, "I'm going to be busy, so I might not be able to stop by all the time."

Blinking, she replied, "Oookay."

Giving a soft grunt Ezio finally cut to the chase, "So I won't be able to keep an eye on you. You're like a little sister to me - "

"We are the same age," she cut in.

"I know, but you don't seem as mature as me." She didn't even have time to snort before he plowed on, "Anyways, you're like a sister and I don't want to see you get involved with the wrong guy or anything. So be careful, alright?"

Margherita didn't speak for a moment – God, what kind of girl wanted to hear that she was like a sister to the hot assassin dude? Then again, it could be so much worse… she could actually like the guy. Yeah, it could be worse. But she wasn't that clichéd so she just nodded, "Yeah, I'll be a good little girl."

He chuckled, "That's all I'm asking for."

**End Part II**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: And here is your mandatory Sunday update. And oh, the plot ensues. Haha, definitely just finished the next chapter ten minutes ago… and I think you're going to like it… even if it took me waaay too long to muddle through.**

**Please keep in mind for this chapter that I have zero experience with hot air balloons, and therefore did a butt-load of research because I'm a horrid perfectionist (I'm also a horrid realist, which makes romance sticky). If there is anyone out there who knows anything about balloons, and you notice something amiss, please tell me so I can rework it and therefore make this story the best it can be. Thanks in advance!**

**Also, I tried to give a different perspective on Rosa… let her be the femme fatale we all know she is... but with a deeper twist. I'm pretty sure every girly-girl wishes she was more of a tomboy and every tomboy secretly wishes they were just a wee bit more feminine.**

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

**Begin Part III**

"Mm-hum," she hummed against his lips. The heat that seeped from his fingers to the skin on her hips intensified as she laced her hands in his long, pony-tailed hair. As it came unlaced in her grasp, she ran her fingertips through it. Without much hesitance, she then untangled one of her hands and slid it to his white shirt, popping the buttons and buckles opened.

"Margherita," he mumbled against her lips, before pulling away and catching her wrist, thereby halting her actions. "Leonardo would not approve."

"Leonardo doesn't control my actions," she retorted sharply.

"Still, he is a good man. It would be wrong."

She looked up at him pleadingly, "We've known each other for a long time. Why are you suddenly so shy?"

"Margherita, we've only known each other for a month."

Blinking innocently, she replied, "Yes, exactly a month to this day." And therefore, she was well within the rules laid down by Ezio and Leonardo.

"You consider that to be long?" her newest distraction asked. When she only shrugged he sighed, "I honestly care about you, Margherita, I don't want this to just be a fling."

She stared at him for a full thirty seconds before she lifted herself into a standing position and stopped straddling his lap. She honestly couldn't deal with this shit-storm. And so she told him, "I'm sorry." Grabbing his arm she dragged him up till he was standing. "I can't return your feelings," she continued as she led him to the door, not giving him a chance to respond at all. "We can't see each other anymore," she finished just as she was pushing him out the door. Closing it behind him, she leaned against it.

God damn it, two years ago she would have convinced him she wanted a committed relationship, lured him into a false sense of security, kept him hooked for a while, then dropped him like the hot mess he was. Nowadays, if the stupid man developed any… emotional attachments… she was forced to drop him immediately, lest another Bartolo spring up. As it was, she'd written and apologized to the man, completely breaking things off. Where were all the men who only wanted sex? Where did they all go?

Oh, wait, she knew a man like that… and he thought of her like a sister. Irony, you are a bitch.

There was a sharp three knocks that sounded right above her head, startling her from her frustrated musing. Goddamn dude was back – surely he'd gotten the message. She really didn't want to have to repeat it; she didn't know if she could withstand the temptation… especially if he did that thing with his tongue again.

"Dude, I told you," she shouted through the wooden door, "We can't be together! Please leave!"

"My, my, my," came a muffled voice from the other side, "Mademoiselle, why would you break my heart like that?"

Margherita quickly turned and flung open the door, recognizing the voice, just as someone said, "Eh, you bastard, you probably deserved it."

And there stood her favorite assassin and a woman with wide, rounded brown eyes that sparkled with mischief. Rosa, Margherita recalled. Oh dear Louis Vuitton, she was one of those girls who looks phenomenal with short hair. Margherita had to physically stop herself from reaching up to stroke her own blonde hair, having always wished to be able to pull off any sort of style that was above her chin. That pretty bitch, she thought half-heartedly as she outwardly smiled at the two.

"Hey! Ezio!" without much thought, she closed the distance between herself and Ezio, throwing her arms around him. Which surprised her. And it certainly surprised the assassin as well.

"Wow, Margherita, if you missed me so much, you could have just visited the Thieves Guild; I told Leonardo that that was where I was staying."

She instantly let go of him, aiming a weak punch at his gut… which he allowed, considering all she did was bruise her knuckles on his armor. But, she'd rather he not get the idea in his head that she had missed him or anything. Even if she kind of had… you can't just go from a year of living with someone to suddenly not seeing that person for an entire month and a half. So, yeah, she'd missed him. Missed his humor, his face, his smell, the way he'd snore, awaken from his snoring and then blame the noise on Margherita.

But like hell she was going to tell him that. A sister didn't miss her brother like that. Even Claudia, who only got to see Ezio on his thrice a year, month long visits to the Villa didn't miss him that much – and she had less to keep her busy. Leonardo had finally okay-ed her building of a new hot air balloon prototype since the canals provided little opportunity for property damage. Thus, her days were spent sun up to sun down on this project.

"Well," she snarked, "You know how terribly dependent I am on you. I was practically dying all due to your absence." She placed her hand over her heart and pouted, "Why do you torture me, so?"

Ezio just smirked and then nodded to Rosa, "This is Rosa. Rosa, this is Margherita."

Margherita had to bite back the immediate response of, "I know," and instead smiled at the girl and greeted, "Nice to meet you."

Rosa countered in response, then turned to Ezio, "You never said your girlfriend was so pretty," she jutted an elbow into his ribs.

"I am_ not_ his girlfriend!" Margherita huffed with both unnecessary volume and aggression.

The two others simply raised their eyebrows at her outburst and Ezio turned back to Rosa, explaining, "It is a title she refuses to accept."

"I already have the title of his pseudo-sister," Margherita huffed, "It would just be awkward."

Rosa gave her a slow nod, then shot a sly smirk up at Ezio.

_Oh,_ Margherita realized. _Oops._ And it was so blatant, and everything. She couldn't believe she'd fallen for it; it was a trick she used all the time. Get the object of your affections in the same area as their pretty friend, make a brash comment about their potential relationship, see who gets flustered first. If it's your guy, he'll be a challenge (which could be fun, in Margherita's opinion) because he has a crushy-wushy on the girl. If it's his pretty friend, she's the one with the hidden feelings. Either way, it gives great insight.

But, it was Margherita who had lost her cool. Mentally, she reevaluated Ezio, her perspective of Ezio, her relationship with Ezio. Did she care about him? Yeah, about as much as her brothers. Did she love him? Eh… refer to previous question for depth of feelings. Did she think he was attractive? Goodness, you'd be hard-pressed to find a female who didn't think so. No, no, no, she didn't have any deep feelings for him that were slowly creeping to the surface, strategically. She was just terribly frustrated that he could get all the tail he wanted, no strings attached, and it seemed Venezia was filled with gentlemen.

"You have a Codex page, or something?" Margherita asked, frustrated again regarding the wimpy men here and the assassin before her.

"No," Ezio leered innocently, "I just missed you. And Rosa wanted to meet you."

As Margherita gave the woman another smile she let the thought fly through her head of, _Yeah, I bet you did._

When all Margherita did was stand there, smiling at Rosa, Ezio coughed and suggested they come in for something to drink. "Spiced wine would be nice," he joked, giving Margherita a private wink.

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," she said, reaching up to grab the bottle of mead from the beverage cabinet. "That stuff is a deadly weapon in your hands."

"Hm?" Rosa interjected before Ezio could respond, obviously not getting the reference.

"She was a bit clumsy and managed to spill some wine on her dress," Ezio explained, suddenly looking back at Margherita. "You have a new dress."

Making a noise of agreement in the back of her throat, she finished pouring the three drinks, and then threw her arms out, giving a small twirl to show off her newest purchase (courtesy of Leonardo's growing finances). "You like?" she asked.

She didn't miss the way his eyes trailed over her form. Yup, she loved this dress. It fit her perfectly, and the light pink color made her look less pale than she actually was. Good stuff, good stuff.

Apparently, Rosa also didn't miss Ezio's actions. "You look very beautiful, Margherita. That color works well for you." She shrugged, "Many think that I don't like girly things, but if my occupation allowed me freer finances and the ability to wear such restricting garments, I think I would enjoy it."

"Really?" Margherita sat down and took a sip of her mead. Mm, yum. If modern teenagers served mead instead of beer at parties, Margherita would have probably gotten drunk more often.

"Oh yes," Rosa said, letting a small grin slide across her face. "No woman wants to be mistaken for a boy. Unfortunately, that happens quite a lot to me. Not that I mind terribly, I need to be tough. I'm the only female at the Thieves Guild."

The blonde shrugged, "Well, you seem too feminine to look like a boy, in my opinion. And you pull it off very well. I adore your hair," she complimented. "I've always wanted short hair, but the shortest I could get it was to my chin in a bob. Any shorter and my head looks too small for my body. Besides, you could probably last a lot longer in a fight than I could."

At this, Ezio snorted. He was pointedly ignored by the females, who were too busy bonding to pay much attention to the man-whore.

The conversation continued steadily, but mostly between the two girls. Ezio got some comments squeezed in there, but for the most part he was exiled. On Margherita's part because she honestly didn't care what he said, and knew that half of his interjections would be to tease her and on Rosa's part because it was all part of her strategy to play hard to get. By the time the sun set and the two returned to the Thieves Guild, they had breeched various topics of conversation and promised to meet again – without the assassin.

As she bid them goodbye, Margherita realized she was glad to have a female friend. In Firenze, she had gained some friends within those first few months of living with Leonardo – mostly servants who had seen her during her Alberti household days and who knew about Sandra's demise. They pitied her, mostly, she had always figured. Before, they had kept their distance because they knew she couldn't understand the only language they spoke.

Margherita always recalled the way, when she had been living with a host-family in France for a few days, her host-sister's friends would rarely talk to her because she couldn't understand what they were saying since they had an accent that garbled their French, and their English was minimal. It was essentially the same thing here… Only the Italians had attempted to get to know her after "that terrible tragedy with Sandra" – as they called it. And, in some ways, Margherita was grateful for their attempt at companionship… she'd certainly made some good friends amongst the group… they just didn't really stand the test of time, if you get my drift.

Well, actually, Margherita could justify it – the slow departure of her friends. See, some girls didn't always like it when their friend smiled a little too much at their boyfriends, paramours, lovers, betrotheds, or husbands. And Margherita was typically highly consumed with her hot air balloons, so finding time to spend with friends was rather difficult, especially when she had to balance her male… "friends". She still wrote to some of the girls, but never regularly. Honestly, Bartolo and Leonardo had been her closest friends these past years, with Ezio slowly replacing Bartolo rather recently.

Sad, huh?

But she wouldn't have the same problems with Rosa, she figured. The thief could have Ezio for all Margherita cared, and Rosa wasn't as prudish as the other girls. She wouldn't (or, perhaps, couldn't) pass judgment on the blonde for partaking in her own belated defense. Maybe she could even teach Margherita how to pick locks? Hm, that sounded like fun. And she supposed, Rosa also didn't mind having a female friend as well. Maybe Margherita would lend her one of her dresses for a night out on the town – Carnevale, perhaps – even if Rosa was more slender than her.

* * *

The next day Ezio returned, Rosa-free, but with a Codex page in hand. As Leonardo happily dove into it's decoding, Margherita showed the assassin to the kitchen to give the dear inventor some peace and quiet. She also had some things to say to the young man that Leonardo didn't need to hear… he wasn't very fond of cursing. Just as the drape that served as a door swung over the threshold, she turned to give Ezio a sneering look.

"You're sleeping with her," she accused.

"Oh, mademoiselle," he began as he avoided her gaze to pick up an apple from the counter. Taking a bite, he spoke around the food, "I have no idea who you mean. Certainly not you… though, we could always change that." He grinned disarmingly. The sentiment was lost due to the fact that he had bits of red apple skin stuck between his teeth. Margherita decided not to tell him, secretly hoping that he'd leave to meet with a pretty bed-mate and embarrass himself.

"Rosa. You're tumbling with her," Margherita crossed her arms. "That's why you brought her here yesterday. It wasn't because you _missed me_," she snarked, "It was because you wanted to rub it in my face that you are getting some tail and I am not."

"First off," he said, finally swallowing his bite and resting the apple on the counter so that he could lean against the aforementioned piece of kitchen equipment and mimic her posture, crossing his arms over his armor. "You don't want any "tail"… technically. You just want some fun. Secondly, I did not bring her here to rub it in your face, I came to get your opinion of her."

"….my… opinion?" She knew he was up to something, but decided to play along anyways. "You wanted my approval?"

"Well, yes. She and I have an agreement that promises to last a while… but when you say it like that, it does seem rather ridiculous."

"Because you're a big, strong, manly man who doesn't need anyone's permission to tumble with someone?" she snarked.

He gave a sultry smirk, "Exactly."

"Well, you have my approval, regardless. It's the… sisterly thing to do."

"Good."

"So you _are_ bedding her."

Groaning, Ezio pushed off the counter and uncrossed his arms, "That _is_ all you would get from this pleasant exchange." When Margherita didn't respond, finally realizing that his intentions were pure and there was no ulterior motive, Ezio began to nonchalantly make his way towards the door he had noticed when he had first walked in. He had never actually gotten a tour of the place. As he poked his head around the corner, he blinked. Then he blinked again, before drawing his head back into the room. "Margherita, that entire room is filled with fabric."

"Yes. That was what I was doing before you showed up." She passed him and entered the place she had dubbed, "Her Workshop". Their new Venezia residence was grand enough to allow the artist a large area to work on his art and inventions and to allow a significantly smaller room for Margherita's use. As it was, she was working on her hot air balloon… well, the balloon part anyways. The fabric choices were always so difficult. As it was, the room (which was already small enough) had fabric piled everywhere, and an especially huge piece spread out on the floor. And she had to sew this all by hand.

"Here," she gestured to a large piece of paper pinned to the wall facing them, as she walked straight on the fabric to cross the room. Ezio followed gingerly stepping over or around the litter. "The machine is composed of three key parts: the balloon, the basket, and the fuel. The basket is where the people will be," she pointed at the stick figures sketched in the basket on the paper. "This thing is called the burner and it," she swished her finger around the square mapped out beneath a circle, "will house the fire that will fill this, which is called an envelope," she pointed at her rendition of an inflated balloon, "with hot air, enough that it will lift into the air."

"Sounds pretty simple…" Ezio nodded.

A mirthless laugh escaped from Margherita, "Yeah, that's what I thought too. Until the first few decided they preferred to be on the ground."

He just shrugged, then glanced about again. "So what are you doing now?"

"Stitching the balloon part together," she answered. "The fabric needs to be shaped a certain way, so I need to cut and piece together, and reinforce. It's tedious." And it was, her fingers were always sore and she'd lost count of how many times she'd pricked her finger on a needle. Oh my God, what she wouldn't give for an electronic sewing machine.

"Do you need help?"

She looked at him, stunned. "You do realize that I'm … sewing, yes?"

Shrugging again, he replied, "Well, yeah."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I don't want to waste time teaching you how to sew."

"I already know how to," at the look on her face, he scoffed, "What, you think 'big, strong, handsome, manly men' can't sew?"

Instead of answering she picked up a small box filled with needles and tossed it at him, "I never said anything about handsome."

"You were thinking it," Ezio grinned as he caught the thread she also threw, this time, with much more force.

* * *

Margherita wouldn't say she enjoyed it – wouldn't even say it was relaxing. But… it kind of was. Sitting there, stitching with a companion, both in totally comfortable silence, broken only if Ezio was seeking her approval. She spent so much time alone, enthralled in her work, ignoring even Leonardo sometimes, her sole focus this attempt at reaching the sky. It was as though she had forgotten what it was like to have someone else around her.

Ezio wouldn't say he enjoyed it – wouldn't even say it was relaxing. But… it kind of was. His typical method of relaxation had always been sex, or taunting the guards, or something of the sort. Now, it seemed, he enjoyed taking solace in wasting the day away stitching up all this damn fabric. And in Margherita's presence, no less. What was the world coming to?

The months passed and slowly the project came together. They moved from putting together the envelope, to finishing weaving the wicker basket. One day, Margherita was working alone outside in the courtyard (her workshop was too small to fit the stacks of notebooks, piles of fabric, and the large basket), weaving the last part of the basket when Ezio dropped from one of the roofs with a muted "thud".

"Ha, don't pretend that didn't scare you," he joked, making his way over to her.

"There is no need to pretend," she muttered around the strips of extra wicker material she held between her teeth. "You do that so often, I've gotten used to it."

Ezio grabbed the strips from her mouth, grimaced because they were wet with her saliva, and then placed them on the ground. "Here," he offered, as he took over the weaving. Margherita moved over and watched as the basket came together under his deft hands. The assassin was always a help, though his sewing occasionally left something to be desired. Glancing over at her, Ezio asked, "So, how's Alessandro?"

"Leaving for Rome in a week."

"Ah, poor Margherita, you finally find a man who doesn't run, screaming, from your aggressive advances and he ends up leaving Venezia within six months of meeting you."

"Are you implying that he's accepting the job in Venezia because I'm a… I don't know, a harpy?" Margherita gave him a sidelong glance as she flicked her gaze over the opened page of her calculation book that was resting on a nearby table she had brought out to work with. The most difficult part was always the fire-holder and the fuel it carried. Once Ezio finished with the basket, she would focus on that particular part of the whole project, so she wanted to look over it one more time before starting. Then, everything could be put together and (fingers crossed) it would ascend to the sky.

"No," Ezio tied off the last rotation of the basket and stood back to survey his work, "I'm just commenting on its irony."

"You know what's ironic, you imbecile?" she didn't even glance up from her book, pushing a finger across the page, following the perfected work. "The fact that you of all people are commenting on aggressive advances."

"Are you calling me aggressive?" he asked as he finally looked over at her.

"Definitely," she snapped her book closed and took quick strides towards the finished basket, bending over to get a better look. Yeah, Ezio had done a decent job.

Sliding up right behind her, Ezio grabbed her hips and guided her back until she was pressed against him. He dragged one hand down the length of her spine, before wrapping his arms completely around her, he commenting, "I can tell you're frustrated."

She stood straight so that her back could feel the coolness of his armor and grabbed his wrists, loosely, but made no move to break from his embrace. "Oh," she said, "can you, now?"

"Hm," he purred, "definitely." His lips connected with her neck and he could feel her shiver. "We could always fix that, you know?" he muttered against her flushed skin.

Thirty seconds passed between them in silence and Ezio was almost shocked. Was she… actually considering his offer? Yes, this was the same thing he'd presented time and time again since they had met nearly six years ago. And this was the same proposal she had rejected time and time again. He'd gotten used to halfheartedly teasing her, knowing she would never accept. He almost didn't want her to accept… she was a constant, someone that he could depend on to be there, snarky and pretty and smart. But it wasn't as though he was going to go back on his word and reject her advances if she did want him.

Finally, she turned her head to catch his surprise-widened eyes, smirking, "Rosa's in Forli isn't she?"

The assassin nodded, not sure what to think of that observation.

"So, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're horny and have no method of dispensing the tension since your current fling is conversing with the thieves in Forli, so you've come to me," she predicted. "Tisk, tisk, you naughty little assassin. You know I'm not that kind of girl."

Pulling away completely, Margherita grabbed her calculation book and turned to go into the workshop. Ezio followed, claiming, "I have plenty of methods for dispensing the tension that do not include you. But I figured we could kill two birds with one stone and by me dispensing my tension, we could also dispense our tension."

"Our tension?" Margherita threw the book onto her main working table and grabbed the metal bowl she would shape to be the burner.

"You don't feel it?" Ezio leaned against the wall, folding his arms.

Continuing to avoid his gaze, she bent over the bowl, opened the book and flipped to her earlier diagrams. "No," she answered.

"Well," he huffed, "I still think you need to get laid. And I need to get laid. So, we can solve each other's problem."

Finally, she glanced up at him, snarking, "Is that how you woo Rosa? "Hey, let's release some tension." And they call you a romantic," she scoffed.

"Rosa and I have an agreement. You… you are much more clinical. I could try to woo you, smile at you, tell you sweet things… and you'd just scoff and berate me."

There wasn't much Margherita could say to that, because it was true. Maybe when she was younger she could think with her heart. Goodness knew, there were many a young man who needed only play chivalrous gentleman and she'd go on a date with him. Now, well… now it seemed she didn't care much for those kinds of things… she might even refer to herself as a – oh, her mother would be so disappointed in her – a feminist. She did things for herself; she had no intention of changing that either. And so, Ezio's charms would do nothing for her. Pity.

"So," the young man continued, "I figure I should tell you how it is and let you make your decision."

"But Ezio," Margherita crossed the room and got so close to him that he had to drop his arms from their crossed position so as to avoid an accidental boob-graze. She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, pouting her bottom lip out, sweetly. "You're like my big brother. That would be incest."

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her back a step or two, gently, chuckling. Yes, he certainly did remember that conversation. "You know very well you really aren't my sister, so it wouldn't be incest." He shrugged himself off the wall, and strode towards the door, pausing to glance back at her and give this final bit of wisdom, "We both know we've wanted this for ages. Sometimes you just have to let go. And don't think I didn't catch the fact that you didn't technically answer me." He was almost out the door before he stopped again to hum, "You can trust me… I mean, if that's what you're worried about."

Giving one last smile, the assassin left the workshop.

Margherita slid into a chair and gave a sigh. He probably wouldn't be back for a few weeks. His visits had become less and less just this past month since he had taken to learning how to improve his climbing with Rosa. Emilio's assassination was still long in coming, but Margherita knew the assassin was busy… and also that he was, in his own way, right.

There _had_ been a brief moment when she had considered his offer. Which was odd. Terribly, terribly odd. Even in the twenty-first century, Margherita had always sworn she'd never sleep with someone unless she loved him._ But, when in Rome, right? _she had thought, feeling his sharp hip bones digging into the tender flesh of her backside. And she definitely cared about him… didn't necessarily love him… but could probably bring herself to have sex with him. Maybe it would be a good step towards healing. And relieving the tension between them. Yeah, there was definitely tension between them and she knew it. So, she'd lied? Get over it.

Margherita was fully aware of the ever-present tension between them – god, it used to suffocate her sometimes. He was certainly handsome, and she certainly was still filled with the hormones of her teenage years. And their flirting did nothing to calm it… usually it was Leonardo who watched them with a hawk's eye, keeping things proper when neither would back down and both were curious to see just how far they could push the other. But since he'd witnessed them working calmly side-by-side, the artist had stepped back.

And she was definitely curious as to what those deft, slender and calloused fingers could do… and that mouth, and that body. It might be nice to lay in his arms, sated for once in her life, secure knowing that he would never hurt her.

Then, a sickening thought accorded to her – it didn't matter how pleasurable the experience was, in the end she would still be hurt because Ezio was a certified Casanova, player, and heartbreaker. Once he got bored of her, he'd move on… And if there was one thing she knew, men and their booty-calls couldn't exist as anything together except those roles. When he did get bored, even their friendship would dwindle. She'd lose one of the only friends she had in this world. Which certainly wasn't anything she could handle.

She refused to sacrifice her friendship with him for the sake of pure curiosity and lust. She didn't trust herself to keep the friendship stable while perusing a friends-with-benefits relationship. And she certainly didn't trust Ezio to do it, either.

With another sigh, she straightened up and began fiddling with the potential burner. She didn't very well want to get burned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: School has officially started, which is terrible because I am literally swamped with homework. Sooo, we'll see what happens in terms of updates.**

**This chapter makes me very happy. And I hope it makes you happy. So… enjoy.**

**_WARNING: This chapter contains adult situations. _**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

"Oh, dear lord, no!" Margherita took off towards the edge of the canal, fear gripping her heart and disappointment shaking her to the core. With a tortured scream she watched her prized project sail through the air, falling, falling, falling, until it smashed into the water. She gave another frustrated shriek, nearly tripping into the canal in her haste. Only Ezio's strong grip on her wrist kept her from diving straight in after all her hard work. Maybe she should just drown herself, get it over with now, she was that depressed.

"Ah, mademoiselle, that is hardly necessary," Ezio released her and began stripping his armor, handing her each piece he removed. "I'll go retrieve it." Finally, he was left in only his breeches and Margherita couldn't even bother to appreciate the view, she was too focused on her hot air balloon. The very same that would not for the life of it remain in the air longer than ten minutes at a time before descending rapidly to the ground.

The assassin spared no hesitation as he dove into the canal and deftly swam towards the mass of soaking fabric that was slowly sliding into the murky water.

"I am terribly sorry, Margherita," Leonardo apologized, resting a hand on her shoulder in some semblance of comfort.

Pouting up at him, she wailed, "And I thought it was actually going to work this time! And look at it!" She gestured wildly at the ruined project as Ezio dragged it to shore. Noting that the burner had fallen off, and therefore needed to be remade entirely (which might not have mattered, considering it was the burner that seemed to have malfunctioned in the first place), she continued, "This is never going to work!"

Leonardo gripped her shoulders to spin her towards him. She wasn't crying (yet) but she was certainly upset. Inwardly, he sighed; Margherita never took failure or criticism well. "It's okay, Margherita, everything will be okay. You still have the envelope and the basket. It's not a complete do-over."

Hesitantly she nodded, and then shoved Ezio's armor and clothing at Leonardo so that she could help Ezio fish the large bundle of fabric out of the water. It was twice as heavy as she remembered it being, but it was also water-logged, so that probably attributed to the extra weight. Ezio stood at full height and stretched. Unfortunately, she was once again too busy with her poor baby to give him the attention he thought he deserved. And after her kind of consideration regarding his proposal, she had no desire to mentally categorize him sexually. Not now, not ever.

"I am sorry, mademoiselle," Ezio offered, "It's a shame to see our hard work go to waste."

Her eyebrows shot up, suddenly defensive and she echoed Leonardo's earlier words, "We – I still have the envelope and the basket. So only the burner needs to be replaced." She hefted the soaking fabric over her shoulder and began dragging the excess cloth and the basket down the streets of Venezia, muttering, "There is something about the altitude that makes the fuel dissipate faster… must figure out how to fix that… and reinforce the cables… maybe make the hole on top bigger…"

The two men watched her depart, lost in her musings, as Ezio redressed. He was just replacing the belt around his waist when the two caught sight of Margherita returning, the hot air balloon still being dragged behind her. "Back so soon?" the assassin commented.

"Well…," Margherita trailed off sheepishly, as she strode right past them, stopping in front of one of the dock's railings. It was then that the artist and the assassin noted the rope that was tied around the railing. They had attached it so that if ("When," Margherita had assured them) the balloon took off it wouldn't fly away completely. It seemed everyone had forgotten it was still connected to the balloon. "I was in the middle of the street when the thing wouldn't move any farther… that was when I remembered this thing," she explained.

"You mean to tell me," Ezio began as he came to stand next to her, arms folded, watching her as she untied the knot, "That we could have simply dragged the contraption to shore by this? That I didn't have to go diving into that freezing water?"

"Oh please, we all know you enjoy any excuse to take your shirt off." The knot came undone and Margherita spun around, heading back towards the workshop without another word. Once again, they watched her depart silently before Ezio glanced at Leonardo.

"I had better get back to work," he said.

Leonardo asked, "Are you still working with the thieves?"

"Ah, yes. We can't get to Emilio just yet, but for now Antonio has much work for me to do. I need to find some traitorous thieves."

"Hm, by 'find', you mean 'kill', yes?"

"Something like that."

"Well, good luck to you, my friend," Leonardo held out a hand for Ezio, which he took gratefully. "Come visit when you can."

* * *

Margherita was neck deep in her new calculations, the hot air balloon situated in the corner of the workshop. She was preparing a data table for the new fuel she was trying… the only problem being that she was required (for the sake of accurate data) to burn the fuel at a high altitude… which meant heights… exposed to the wind and other elements. Which was not something she could do without fainting, and therefore dying.

_Maybe I'll get Ezio to do it or something…_ she pondered, carefully dragging her quill across the paper into a perfect line, finishing the table.

A sudden creak upstairs drew her attention. Yeah, sometimes the house made odd noises, especially during this season when the wind picked up speed and rattled everyone. So, she got back to work, and pushed the noise out of her mind.

…Until it sounded again. This time, her quill paused in mid-motion. _Maybe Leonardo is fiddling around upstairs, _she speculated, until she remembered he'd left to meet with one of his patrons. Maybe he'd returned? No, she would have heard him enter through the door and climb the stairs. _Ezio…? _she wondered. He would have the skills to get into the house undetected… probably from one of the second-story windows, too. She didn't know why he was here, but his company was always welcomed

Relaxing marginally, Margherita slowly placed her quill beside the parchment and stood up. Her pace was relatively steady as she exited her workshop and reached the stairs, walking with intended stealth. She couldn't hope to startle an assassin, but it would be fun to try. He probably had a Codex page or something. Though, it didn't make sense for him to enter through an upstairs window like that. Suddenly, a sickening thought occurred to her – what if he was injured, hiding from the sentries on the roofs, needing a place to recover? And she was wasting time trying to joke around with him?

Shedding all semblance of stealth, she bounded up the stairs and burst into the first room she encountered – Leonardo's bedchamber. This was the most logical place to enter from since the window opened up to a roof. But when nothing and no one new was in there, Margherita began to doubt that he'd come in this way. Intending on checking her own bedchamber and the extra room reserved for the assistants Leonardo didn't have currently, she whirled around – only to come face to face with an unfamiliar man.

He wasn't very tall, but slender and built with practiced grace. The clothes that hung from his body were like rags, mismatched and dirty and he wore a bandana around his straggly forehead. One eye was missing and as he leered at her, some teeth were also absent. Taking a step forward, he cornered her further into the room.

One thing particular slowly dawned on her – he was blocking the exit.

"Who are you?" her voice was barely above a whisper, fear weakening her tone.

"That doesn't matter much, now does it? I'm just a nameless thief," he took another step forward. "Tell me, where is it?"

Her eyes glanced about for anything that could be used as a weapon, silently cursing herself for forgetting to replace the dagger she typically kept in the folds of her skirt incase one of her men got overzealous, "Where what is?"

"The Codex page."

Thief? But weren't they loyal to Ezio… or at least, Antonio, who was also an assassin? This dude certainly didn't look friendly, and if Ezio wanted a Codex page (she couldn't even recall if the assassin had dropped one off recently for Leonardo to decode) so badly, he would have come himself. Something was wrong. And Leonardo would be back soon – she knew that much. Maybe if she stalled…

"I thought the thieves answered to Antonio," she took a step back once more, and slightly to the side, hoping to be able to reach one of Leonardo's sculptors knives.

"I answer to no one," there was a brief pause when suddenly the man jutted forward and struck her right across the face. If she had had any doubts that his intentions weren't pure, they were all dispelled now. "And don't change the subject."

She couldn't help the way her legs trembled and her knees gave out from the startle of the attack. She collapsed to the ground. Tears leapt to her eyes as she held her stinging cheek. "I don't know where it is," she pleaded.

"Ah," he bounced into a crouching position to loom over her, "So you _do_ at least know what I'm talking about."

"If Ezio brought a Codex page here, I have no idea where it is," she gave up.

He frowned, the lines on his face deepening, "So… you're telling me that you're _useless_?"

There was definitely a glint in his eyes she didn't like. She edged away from him, closer to the worktable, the hope of that knife still rolling over in her mind.

It all seemed to happen in slow-motion… she shifted backwards, he noticed what direction she was heading in – the weapon she was aiming for, and swiftly he drew a dagger from his belt. He had barely the time to raise it into the air when a shadow passed over both of them. As Margherita closed her eyes, she assumed this ominous shadow was made by her arms as they rose up and out to shield her. The dulled cling of metal slicing through flesh rang out and warm liquid splashed across her face, dribbling down her chin to fall like burning droplets onto her lap.

It seemed to her, in her hazy mind, that she had been wounded, and blood now seeped from her injuries… only, there was no pain.

A gurgle rang out in the otherwise silent room and a giant mass of warmth descended on top of Margherita, almost pinning her down as she gave out a yelp and fell with it, laying on the floor crushed by its weight. She quickly opened her eyes to be greeted with the sight of the man's gaping ones. His mouth hung limp and blood stained his neck, dripping down onto her. And just as suddenly as the body had fallen on her, it was lifted and removed entirely, landing with a deafening thud a ways off from her petrified body.

There was never a time in her life that she was happier to see the white and red costume. Ezio's hidden blade was still exposed, and still crimson with blood as he reached out an unarmed hand to help her to her feet. She didn't accept it, instead focusing on the dead body. There was too much blood, she realized as it caressed her lips, entered her mouth and danced with her tongue.

Margherita doubled over and became physically ill, dry heaving. Ezio knelt next to her, his hidden blade finally hidden from her sight, and put his arms around her quaking body. His large hand traveled up and down her spine, comforting her. When she finally was breathing normally, he helped pull her back and brushed the stray strands of hair from her face that were matted to her skin, before wiping the blood from her forehead, then her eyelids, then her cheeks. He didn't do too good of a job, the liquid just smeared across her pale skin.

And she looked up at him with those glistening eyes, not yet crying but on the very brink of it, adoration and trust in her gaze, shaking in his arms and he gently wiped the blood from her lips, dragging his fingers down the plump flesh. Margherita closed her eyes, and let a tear run down, staining her cheek the speckled white of her usual visage as it rolled.

Ezio could not control what he did next. With little hesitation, he pressed his lips against hers, furtively but with the gentleness he was known for. It seemed he had not removed all the blood, and the salty taste penetrated his senses. There was a little shock, as she responded, pressing back just as sharply.

She needed to know she was still alive.

And then, everything came crashing back down on her and she began to sob against his lips, before pulling away and burying her head into his chest. He held her until the blood was half-dried and Leonardo returned home, late and confused.

* * *

"Wow! That was… that was – amazing!"

Margherita accepted the compliment (yeah, he was commenting on the hot air balloon, but she liked to think that as it's creator, she deserved some loving too) with a simple bow of her head as she stepped aside and let the man and his wife exit her contraption. He slipped a small pouch into her waiting and opened hand, flashing her an easy grin. As the linen met her skin, the little twinkle of coins could be heard. This jig paid very well.

Within a month of that _whole ordeal_, she'd gotten her hot air balloon up and running. Because she'd been so focused on forgetting that traumatic experience, she'd thrown herself into her work and found the perfect fuel to keep the flame prolonged during the flight… with some help from Ezio.

The young man hadn't left her side for more than a few hours within those first days. It had been vaguely suffocating, but she'd needed the reassurance that someone was there – someone that could take an attacker in a fight. Leonardo was always a comfort, but he was too much of a pacifistic person to do any good in that sort of a situation. Eventually Ezio had given her some breathing room as he searched out the other traitorous thieves. She was sad to see him go, but he was never gone long. Not like before.

Since then, she'd finished the hot air balloon and got it to remain up in the sky. By the time she'd graduated from trial runs with stones that equated a man's weight, she doubled the weight to account for two people, and then decided to send up a real person… Ezio was all too glad to risk his neck. His logic had been that he'd jumped from greater heights before and survived and that Margherita would be glad to be rid of him, should things go wrong. She'd opened her mouth to tell him otherwise, but stopped when he shot her a look so filled with snark she would have thought he was mimicking her.

The contraption in the sky gained much attention and people from far and wide came to ride it. And they paid a decent sum to do so. It became a business situated near the canals (just in case the thing malfunctions and falls). Within a month Margherita was able to pay back the money Leonardo had had to forfeit to the merchant whose stall she'd crushed with her first prototypes, buy another dress to replace the one she'd gotten stained with the thieves blood, and still save some for a rainy day. And besides the funds, scientists throughout Italy came to discuss this "floating machine" with her. It gave her great joy to explain the science behind it to the men who would some day revolutionize science as a subject. Pride was her deadliest sin… lust coming in second.

The kiss was never spoken of.

Slipping the little pouch through her belt loop, Margherita waved as her satisfied customer walked off. A ways away, she noticed the bobbing white in the crowd that typically meant Ezio was coming to visit. It was a good thing there were no more customers for today. He raised a hand in greeting, "Hello."

When she reciprocated he glanced up at the grounded balloon, "Did you have good business today?"

"I have good business everyday," she retorted. "This thing is popular."

He smiled, "You must be proud."

"Overwhelmingly so," she grinned back.

Nodding towards the balloon he asked, "You haven't been up yet, have you?"

There was a deep pause in which her heart sank. No, she had not been up yet. She did not want to go up. And the glint in his eyes was making her nervous. "No… It's not necessary. The right amount of fuel will burn slowly enough to rise and dissipate slowly enough to descend steadily."

"And how much fuel is needed?"

Margherita bent to grab her bag, absentmindedly answering, "Probably half of that container," she gestured to the fuel bottle sitting next to the balloon. Then she caught his gaze. "And," she pointed an accusatory finger at the assassin, "don't look at me like that."

"Like what, mademoiselle?" he smirked.

"Like… like," she took a step back but was too slow. The assassin grabbed her wrist and hefted the woman over his shoulder, grasping her upper thigh, right under the curve of her backside, before swooping down and grabbing the canister full of fuel. He didn't set her down until he'd entered the basket, closed the door, prepped the balloon (all with one hand) and it was at least ten feet in the air.

The moment her feet hit the bottom of the basket, she flew to the edge and gripped it. The balloon continued to steadily rise and she had no where to go. She twisted around and glared at Ezio. He shot her a disarming grin. Softly, her expression dissolved and she gave a deep sigh, sliding to the floor and sticking her head on top of her knees. Ezio cocked his head as he looked down on her.

"So, how long will this last?" he asked, still refusing to sit.

"Two people," she muttered into the fabric of her dress, "would equate to about fifteen minutes."

"Ah! That's such a short time! You should stand and see these sights!" Ezio kneeled near her, grasping her arm and dragging her to her feet.

Once the landscape was in sight, she closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was on ground. _The balloon is on the ground. It's just a windy day. I am safe. I am on the ground. The Earth is directly under my feet. I am grounded. I am safe. I am – _

"Look! I can see Leonardo's workshop from here!"

"Fantastic," she muttered, bringing a hand to cover her eyes for added protection.

"Oh, and the Thieves Guild, it's right over there!" Ezio continued to goad.

She didn't make any move to take her hand from her face. Finally, she heard Ezio sigh and he pulled it from over her eyes. "Margherita, open your eyes," he commanded.

"That is not going to happen," the reply was short.

"Please Margherita, just open your eyes. Here," Ezio reached down and grasped the hand he had just removed from her face, folding it open delicately and placing it against his stubbly cheek. His flesh felt cool under her clammy touch. "I'm standing right in front of you. If you open your eyes, all you'll see is my face. You can feel how close we are, right?" Taking a half-step forward, his armor brushed against her chest and his arm encircled her waist.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she debated, still hesitant. That damn assassin could disappear in the blink of an eye, what's to say he wouldn't do it now in some attempt at getting her to face her fears?

"I – I don't know, Ezio."

Suddenly, his breath was intermingling with hers, as though every time he breathed out, she breathed in and they were snatching fragments of each other's souls with each exhale. Vaguely, she recalled that it wasn't really a good thing to be inhaling the carbon dioxide he was releasing… maybe that was why she was suddenly so lightheaded? Whispering so softly that the wind almost stole the words away before they reached her ears, Ezio beseeched, "Trust me."

Her eyes flew open, totally involuntarily. She wanted to see his face – see his expression – see if it matched the pleading in his voice. Honey eyes sparkled and the frown that had originally graced his mouth when she refused to open her eyes lifted eagerly into, not a satisfied smirk like she would have expected, but instead into an honestly happy smile.

And he was right, his face took up her entire line of vision – not that she could look anywhere else when his face was so stunning in its openness. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Margherita chose not to respond, instead reveling in the way his breath caressed her face when he spoke.

"Would you like to see the views?" he asked, "I won't make you if you don't want to… but it's honestly breathtaking."

Opening her mouth to respond in the definite negative, she suddenly closed it and instead inquired, "What are you most afraid of?"

It took him a moment to reply, but she could see his hesitance, "All I have left in this world is my mother, my sister, my uncle, Leonardo, you and a handful of allies. My worst fear would be to lose any one of you." There was a long second in which neither spoke before Ezio suddenly grinned, "That, and spiders. Pesky little devils, those."

Margherita couldn't help but giggle, "Spiders? Honestly?"

"Oh yes, you don't know how torturous it was to watch you capture that huge spider last week and release it out your window. All I wanted to do was kill it. Smash it into the ground."

Smiling brightly, she paused, tensed her body in anticipation, took a deep breath and then turned her head to the side, ignoring the way his nose dragged against her forehead as she shifted. Her eyes glanced over the scenery and she mentally could admit that it was all very beautiful. No wonder she had repeat customers. Ezio never released her – not until the balloon touched grounded again. He even ignored the way her nails had dug into his arm when the balloon first began to descend.

Packing everything up, Ezio helped carry the balloon back to the workshop just as the sun began to set, spraying the streets in orange and red. They walked in silence until they entered her particular branch of the house, putting everything away. By then, the sun had completely disappeared and the two were left in darkness. Margherita glanced at Ezio, who was intently watching her. The dark room didn't do much to hide his twinkling eyes as they regarded her.

"Is… is Rosa still in Forli?" she asked, even though she knew the answer. This was her attempt at subtly. It was her own proposition. One she knew he would accept, because he knew she would offer it.

Ezio crossed the room to grasp her hand, gently pulling her from the room, into the main workshop, and up the stairs. "Where is Leonardo?"

"In his room," she replied, "He's been turning in early."

Making a noise in the back of his throat, he led her into her bedchamber, "Then we'd best be quiet." Once the door was closed behind them, he drew her against him and began to kiss her, hot and wild. And she reciprocated just as easily, closing her eyes tightly, not even noticing when Ezio reached behind her to loosen the braid she always wore. Threading his fingers through her hair, he guided her head back and pressed his lips against her neck.

Margherita opened her eyes to be met by the white of his customary hood. Well, that wouldn't work. Clothes certainly weren't necessary now. When she tugged his hood down, Ezio paused his burning attentions and glanced up at her with a smirk. He took this as a command to be rid of clothes entirely and set about undoing the front buttons of her dress, returning to her lips. Once she was left in nothing but her under dress, she attempted to return the favor… failing miserably as she reached the buckles of his armor and could barely stumble through removing them.

"Goddamn it, Ezio," she groaned, "Did you weld yourself into this?"

He chuckled against the earlobe he had been suckling, then pulled back and assisted her in stripping off his weapons, robes, and his shirt. They were left lying on the floor and Ezio pulled Margherita closer to him and off her feet as he stepped over them, setting the female on the bed. As he stood over her, he slowly slipped his breeches down, never breaking eye contact with her. It wasn't until he stepped out of them that she did glance down. Well, no one could ever call him average, she decided, noting that he was already half-erect. She half-expected herself to blush at how vulnerable he looked, standing totally naked in front of her… but he stood with such grace that one would assume nude was his most comfortable state. And maybe it should have been his natural state, considering his sculpted muscles and lean build.

Beginning with her feet, he bent over her and caressed her skin with his fingertips, up to her ankles, then calves, then thighs. A brief moment passed over her consciousness in which she fretted over the fact that her legs weren't shaved – until she remembered none of the females of this time shaved their legs. Then, she wondered why she had never had that startling realization before until she remembered no one had ever touched her there… she'd never let anyone get that close.

The assassin continued to pay attention to her thighs, kneading the muscles, before he slipped his fingers under the dress and, with deliberate tenderness, he slid it up and up and up, past her most intimate place, past her hips, her waist, her breasts, and she lifted her arms up over her head to allow him to slide it entirely off.

This time, she did blush, as she lay totally exposed in front of the man. Then, she clenched her fist, realizing that he hadn't removed her fingerless glove. That, at least, was still hidden beneath fabric. Watching as he stood up again, his mission complete, she saw his eyes travel up and down her form and she grabbed at the bedding to keep herself from covering up again… as it was, she pushed her thighs together even more tightly than before.

She was… stunning, Ezio decided. Her bed was placed right next to the window so the moonlight flooded right on her, illuminating her pale skin and blonde hair into a halo behind her head. Her freckles stood out like spots of wax drops on parchment. With the need to kiss her again, he kneeled on the bed, placing himself on top of her – his hands on either side of her head. He did, though, notice the way she tensed… hm, apparently this brought back some memories he knew she'd rather forget. He might have to be creative.

Sitting back, he made sure his erection was still pressed against her thigh as he placed delicate kisses along her collarbone, hoping to ease her worry. Slowly, the lines up by her forehead smoothed and she gave into the way he was touching her. The next time she tensed, it was in pleasure as he took a pale pink nipple into his mouth and suckled gently. Her breath caught and Ezio knew from his vast amount of experience that foreplay was done… it was time to get to the good stuff.

Making the decision to not force her to relive anything else horrific, he pressed down against her and flipped the two over. This way, she would be able to control the pace and she wouldn't feel trapped. Her eyes widened at first, a bit startled, before she relaxed on top of him. He guided her up into a sitting position right on his lap, straddling his groin. "Are you sure, Margherita?"

She honestly hadn't expected him to ask her something so considerate like that… most men would have just stuck it in and called it a day. Smiling down at him, she forced herself to remember that this was Ezio they were talking about. He was a lover in everyway and would do whatever was necessary to be certain that both partners enjoyed the experience. And he respected her. And she trusted him.

"I'm positive," she replied.

Nodding, he commanded, "Raise your hips up," as he shifted underneath her. She obeyed and continued to stare down at him, waiting as he lined himself up. Using one hand on her hip, he slowly guided her down onto him, watching her face. He knew she wasn't a virgin, but he still didn't want to hurt her. It seemed it didn't cause her too much pain, but a look of something passed over her face. He almost missed it because he was so caught up in his pleasure – Rosa had been gone for a long while and he hadn't had many chances to stop in a brothel.

It was… uncomfortable, she decided. It wasn't painful, like that first time, but the way she was stretched was so unusual that she paused. Then, she continued to remain still, suddenly unsure about what exactly to do.

"What… um, Ezio… I don't know how this works."

He gave her a soft smile… she was so… innocent. An interesting foil to Rosa. Bringing both hands to rest on either of her hips, he said, "Just follow my lead."

Guiding her up, almost totally off of him, he brought her right back down. A gasp caught in the back of her throat. And then he did it again. And again. And slowly she got the hang of it to the point that he released her hips and instead grasped her shoulders, pulling her upper body down against his chest, her hard nipples dragging against his skin. The new position forced a moan from her lips as his erection hit a new spot inside her. His lips met hers again and she stopped moving for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with having to do two things at once. When his hand reached back to her bent hip to guide her movements again, she fell back into the rhythm.

She could feel a building in her gut, her insides tightening and all she could think of to relieve it was to pick up the pace. Ezio responded, sensing the impending climax, even if she, herself, didn't fully understand what was about to happen. Bracing herself, her body let loose spasms that shook her. Blackness took over her vision for a moment as she pulled back from Ezio's lips and gave a guttural whimper. The feeling only intensified as Ezio continued to pound up into her, ignoring the fact that she had stopped moving, mystified by her orgasm. Quickly, Ezio was taken over the edge as well.

It was an odd feeling, the added stickiness within her as he ejaculated. Resting her forehead against his collarbone, she tried to calm her panting as Ezio lifted her hips and slipped himself out of her, letting her drape over him, legs entangling. Lazily, his fingers skimmed her spine up and down, then made little circles. The air was musky with the scent of sex and sweat. They were both sated.

"Well," Ezio began, "I think that definitely released some of the tension."

Lifting her head, she looked him in the eye and met his crinkled gaze. Yeah, yeah it had. It was as though a mist that had always smoked between them had been swept away by a large gust of wind and they could see each other clearly.

She couldn't stop the words that came from her mouth as she reached the realization that, "I don't love you."

Ezio blinked, frowned and then said, "I don't love you either."

"But we're still friends, right?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

Sighing, she relaxed against him again, "Good, just so we've gotten that out of the way."

He chuckled and the vibrations radiated throughout her body as well, "Were you worried I thought of this as something more?"

"No. I know the way you think. This was a stress and tension relieving exercise in your opinion. I was worried you'd think I thought of this as something more. But I don't…" she sighed into his skin, relishing the sight as goose pimples rose to the surface of his neck as her breath caressed it. "That was definitely an inventive way to release tension. Remind me to do it again sometime, would you?"

"I certainly intend to remind you as often as I can."

She shared in the mutual chuckle for a moment before another disastrous thought occurred to her – "What if I get pregnant?" she asked as she pushed herself up, carelessly allowing her knee to hit poor Ezio in a very sensitive spot.

Groaning, the assassin rolled into a fetal position, nearly pushing Margherita off the bed in his immediate reaction. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed as she tried and failed to stay on the bed. She slid off with a loud thump right on her backside. "Ow!"

"Ow is right, you wanton wench," Ezio moaned, no true venom in his voice.

From the floor, Margherita huffed, indignantly.

"Margherita, are you okay?" a worried voice asked from the other room. Apparently all the commotion had woken poor Leonardo up. If he came in and saw them like this now, he'd kill them… well, probably just Ezio, but still…

"I'm fine," she called back. "I just had a nightmare and fell out of bed! I'm alright, though!"

"You sure?"

"Yup!"

"Alright…" and the other room went silent.

Ezio pulled himself into a sitting position, having recovered from that manhood-crippling blow from the blonde female.

Whispering, she asked, "Are you okay? No permanent damage?"

Running fingers through his loose hair (she didn't remember when he'd let it down) he shrugged, "I've gotten worse."

She relaxed marginally as he continued, "In response to your earlier question, if you got pregnant I would support you and the child."

Blinking, stunned, she asked, "Just like that? Do you say that to all the women you bed?"

"All of them that care to ask me what I'd do," he paused, "But I can take you to the doctor tomorrow and he can give you herbs to make it unlikely for you to become pregnant from this encounter. And for future reference, I know that the courtesans use Queen Anne's Lace to prevent pregnancy."

She nodded slowly. Yes, by the time she'd gotten her head on right after the rape, her period had come and gone and she never bothered to worry about pregnancy. But there was no way in hell she'd have a child here, not when her home was elsewhere. Briefly, Margherita scolded herself. Honestly, she'd always promised herself, when she still lived in contemporary times, that she wouldn't have sex unless she was on the pill, and then she did something stupid like jump into bed with no protection whatsoever. She had hear about of Queen Anne's Lace even in her own century – one of her friends had an aunt who was super-hippy-ish and who only eat the things she grew in her garden, wore clothes she spun all on her own, and who used the seeds to prevent pregnancy.

Her musings were interrupted as Ezio stood, still naked and gleaming, and reached a hand down to help her up. "We should go get cleaned up and then we can get some sleep, is that alright?"

"You're going to stay the night?"

"… you don't want me to?"

"Well, no, I mean yes – I mean, I want you to stay, but… I just didn't think you would." He opened his mouth to reply but before he could get any words out she continued, "But I'm glad you're going to."

He shut his mouth and smiled down at her, pulling her closer and placing a single, closed-mouth kiss on her upturned lips. Following him from the room, she ignored the stickiness running down her inner thigh, certain it would be cleaned from her body soon, and instead smiled at the back of Ezio's head.

Yeah, even if they _were_ sleeping together, they still would remain friends. Why had Margherita gotten so hung up on that, before? Probably because she didn't know what she was missing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: AP classes will kill me. They will, but you'll still get your updates even if I have to post them from beyond the grave. _L'université me tuera. C'est tout._**

**Yay! This one's super long. I just can't seem to stop writing. Lucky you! And no, you aren't reading it wrong; this story did in fact go from having eleven chapters to only having nine. I combined the first four chapters into two chapters because I like things to be balanced. Nothing was removed (though, Gabby-sama, this did give me the opportunity to edit that tidbit right before the execution – the one you thought wasn't realistic, and I totally agreed upon rereading it) but some stuff was actually added.**

**Hope ya'll liked the last chapter, and I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

Margherita twisted to avoid smacking right into an unsuspecting citizen, muttering under her breath in English about the stupidity of some people. Particularly, herself. What had possessed her to leave the cute little confines of her workshop on such a muggy day as this? Those metal rods could have waited another day – maybe even two. But no, she'd had to stumble out of the workshop and dreg through the market. Damn lightening rod prototype.

Months after making Ezio her official friend with benefits, the trio had officially been in Venezia for four years. Margherita still flew her balloon over the canals for paying customers (and sometimes people – kids – who were especially cute) but certainly not as often, and definitely not everyday since interest in the contraption had dwindled over time and she became fascinated with remembering all the little inventions of her past (future?) – pencils, bicycles, light bulbs. Her time was spent replicating these things, as well as researching isolating morphine from opium, publishing work on the theory behind vaccines, genetics, and evolution. Her most recent project was working with lightening. Hopefully, the future scientists from a different realm won't mind her stealing all of their brain-children and pawning them off as her own.

Shuffling into the main workshop, she dropped the rods that would later be used to attract lightening, onto the floor, ungracefully. Margherita would shove them in her own workshop later, and she was certain Leonardo wouldn't mind – his own workshop was littered with his inventions as it were. Dragging her feet, she brought a hand to slide down her face before a knocking at the door startled her. As she opened the door, her eyes widened in delight.

It had certainly been a while since she'd seen him. After finally killing Emilio, he'd been far too busy to come visit her at all. She knew he'd taken refuge in Rosa's bed instead of hers during the separation and now that everyone was back in Venezia he often alternated between the two. He had also gained a new target – Carlo Grimaldi. She had heard that he was having trouble finding a way into the Palazzo Ducale.

Without much greeting, the assassin ducked his head around the doorframe and glanced about for Leonardo.

"Is he here?" he asked.

Though their prevalent sex had not gone unnoticed by most of their Venezia contacts (Rosa was especially perceptive, even though she didn't honestly care when Ezio shared Margherita's bed… nor did Margherita care much when he shared Rosa's bed, not unless she wanted some sex and Ezio was too busy) Leonardo was still left in the dark, given that it wasn't terribly smart to alert him of the one thing he'd been trying to prevent for so long.

"Nope. He's meeting with a patron." That's all Ezio needed to hear. Unceremoniously, he grasped her and then dumped her onto the corner of the main workshop table. Positioning himself between her spread and yielding legs, he attacked her lips with viciousness. It had been a long time, she knew. Preparations needed to be made so that Carlo would fall. "He left just before I went to the market," she continued to explain the moment her mouth was released and he moved down to her exposed cleavage. "Won't – he, um, won't be back till late."

It was difficult to think as he pushed her bodice down to her waist and began licking at her nipples, which were instantly hardened by the cold air.

Suddenly, Ezio paused and smirked up at her, "You mean, we have this whole place to ourselves.?"

"Yup… we are _completely alone._" Returning his smirk, she tugged his hood down and then pushed his head back to its earlier position. She gave a low moan as he caught a pink bud between his teeth and pressed sharply. Throwing her head back, she laced her fingers into his hair.

It was the assassin who first noticed the creak of the door.

As Leonardo nonchalantly strolled into the workshop the sight he was greeted with was an odd one… Ezio was there, standing almost off in a corner, tugging his hood back up over his face, turned away from the door. Margherita… well, Margherita was turned away from him as well, hunched over the table, one arm draped across her body. It was… unusual posturing to say the least.

The artist looked between them, "Ezio… what brings you here?"

"Oh, just stopping by. Can't I visit old friends?"

"Yes, yes, I told you my door was always open." Then, Leonardo glanced at Margherita. "What are you up to?"

"Just… checking over stuff."

Leonardo came to stand right behind her, glancing at what was in front of her. A painting he had recently finished was sitting on the table, and she seemed to be staring at it intently. Why would she be "checking over" that? She certainly had no artistic talent. It wasn't until he sighed, decided it wasn't important, crossed the room to grab the tiny painting he'd forgotten and turned back around that he noticed the fact that her arm was draped across her chest… Her very naked chest. Her thin forearm was the only thing censoring his vision, but the image was still shocking and terribly inappropriate.

Blinking, he took a few steps forward, confused, before realizing what exactly had been going on. Margherita, half naked, the entire room tense. Well, they certainly didn't call him a genius for nothing.

"You man-whore," Leonardo accused, turning to Ezio with a fierce glare.

Throwing his hands up, Ezio took a step back, "My friend, this was a mutual decision! We are both to blame!"

The assassin ignored Leonardo's protests, as he crossed the room and whipped off his cloak. Approaching Margherita, he helped her to cover herself. It seemed that in their fever, Ezio had ripped part of the seam that kept the bodice up. Thanking him, she accepted the cloth, and allowed him to wrap her in it. Glancing back at the artist's red face, his eyes now aimed at Margherita, Ezio decided to remain at her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. He knew she had never liked leaving her mentor in the dark, and to have him so angry at her left her riddled with guilt.

"Of all the stupid things you could do…!" Leonardo began.

"Actually, I think sleeping with Ezio was a rather smart decision," she replied.

"And how is that?" Leonardo crossed his arms.

"You're the one always going on about how I need to progress my healing. If you missed this particular fact – I managed to make an intimate connection with a man. I had sex with a man. A penis entered my vagina - with my consent. Now, that's progress."

The inventor sighed, suddenly dropping his arms and deflating before another idea occurred to him – "You took advantage of her!" he pointed at the assassin.

The accused blinked at Leonardo before replying, "I have done no such thing!"

"I asked you, Ezio, _years_ ago not to take advantage of her. You were supposed to give her a man she could depend on!"

"Why do you think I'm suddenly so undependable now that we are tumbling together?"

"How long has this been going on?"

Glancing down at Margherita for the answer, she shrugged and so Ezio responded with, "Seven… maybe eight months…?"

"And yet you are still up to your bad habits! You are terribly indecisive with women. I know you! You bounce around and sleep with this woman, tumble with that one, leave the other one and you certainly get your fill of courtesans. "

"And Margherita still flirts with everything with a penis!"

Leonardo glanced at Margherita and her only response was to shrug once again. Shaking his head, the genius groaned, "This isn't about Margherita! She can't help the way she is." He ignored her squeak of protest. "You know better! You'll bed her for awhile and then leave her heartbroken. Or get her pregnant and she'll be stuck with your bastard."

It took a moment for everything to register with Margherita – the reason why he was so upset with the two of them. He knew neither was able to remain monogamous for long, and yet they were engaging in activities that could result in a child… a bastard child. And she knew, from the many biographies of the man she had been assigned in class and from the artist's own mouth, that he was a bastard born from a noble father and a peasant mother. Of course he would draw parallels, especially knowing the two could never remain attached to each other.

Finally breaking her silence, Margherita said, "When he does move on – or when I do – I'll be far from heartbroken." She groaned, and leaned more into Ezio. "Leonardo, I know how much you dislike sexual stuff; you think it's disgusting and messy and I know that. You have a romantic view of the world. You," suddenly she cocked her head to the side. "You probably think this is a romantic thing, don't you?"

When he opened his mouth with a vengeance, she shushed him and ordered, "Just nod or something." Snapping his mouth closed, he sighed and responded in the affirmative.

"See?" she continued, "You assume that I love him and that's why I had sex with him. I do care about him – he's my friend. He cares about me. But we certainly don't love each other. It's a way to relieve the tension, you know? No strings attached. And I've been using Queen Anne's Lace. He's also pretty adamant about the fact that any mother of his child would be taken care of." Glancing up at the assassin, she joked, "It's the noble in him."

Slowly, Leonardo deflated. "You… you're happy?"

"Yeah."

Nodding slowly, he fiddled with the painting in his hands idly, as he thought about everything. Ezio and Margherita just stood in silence.

"Fine," Leonardo decided, "you're adults. You can do as you will." Giving both of them a stiff nod, he began walking towards the door, "If you're happy, I'm content. I'll be back later."

And the two were left to their own devices.

* * *

Leonardo returned long after Ezio had gotten cleaned up and left. Margherita was fiddling with her rods when her mentor poked his head around the corner. "You should have told me."

Without looking up from her work she sighed and paused her deft hands, "I know."

"You swear you know what you're doing?"

This time, she did glance up and shot him a subtle smile, "Ezio will always be my friend. Just as you will be. He and I both had something the other wanted, and so we gave it to each other. And he's the only man who I trust enough to give me that… maybe you… if you weren't so disinterested in girls. When we get bored, we'll move on. As lovers, but not as friends."

Leonardo's disembodied head continued to look at her, long and hard. He squinted his eyes for a moment before he sighed and he must have retracted his head because it disappeared from her view. As his footsteps faded into the main workshop she caught him warn, "Just don't fall in love with him."

Snorting, she got back to work. Yeah, like that was going to happen.

Oh, what she didn't know certainly wouldn't hurt her… for now.

* * *

The short knocks that were rapped upon the door drew Margherita's attention away from her small meal during lunch.

"I need your help, Leonardo." She knew that voice. Entering the main workshop, she brought her gaze to focus on the assassin who had just busted through the door, pulling his hood down and exposing his frenzied eyes. What was wrong? What had happened?

She tried to piece together what she could remember about the game – the sequence of time. It had been easy to recall that Ezio would kill Carlo Grimaldi… everyone he sought out eventually fell to his blade but the how and when was still up in the air. When she'd played the game, all that had happened was that she (using Ezio's virtual body) had arrived in Venezia, did a few side missions, killed Emilio, received another name, did a few more side missions and then ended up in the flying machine, right before killing Carlo. Nearly four years had passed. This assassinating-people business was pretty much a long-term deal. But she couldn't recall if anything important had happened prior.

There was also no time to check the little book she kept of things she could remember. Two years ago, she finally decided that since her memory of the future and the game was slipping away slowly, she should jot down what she could recall before it was all gone. Some help that was, now.

"Does it work?" Ezio asked without letting the others even attempt to greet him. Leonardo seemed to not understand what the heck the assassin was talking about. Margherita did, however. Ah, so the target was going to fall.

"What? What are you asking?"

As though talking to a small, deranged child, Ezio asked, "Does – it – work? Leonardo. Can it really fly?" He began walking towards the flying machine.

Leonardo finally seemed to realize what the flustered young man was talking about, "I don't know… It's only a prototype. An idea. It's not ready yet."

Which was true. While Leonardo had slaved over that contraption with the same labor of love Margherita had with her hot air balloon and with his extreme level of genius, no actual tests had been done with it… there was no way to know if this flying thing wouldn't come crashing down the same way as hers had those first few times.

Leonardo came to stand right next to Ezio, rubbing the back of his head in thought. Margherita hung back, simply observing the interaction. This answer didn't seem to pacify the assassin, "Have you tried it?"

The other man's head whipped around. "No!" he let out, a little too forcefully. "It's too dangerous! To test it, you'd have to leap off a tower! Who would be mad enough to do something like that?" And he took off back to his table, conversation closed.

Crossing his arms, Ezio smirked, "Leonardo… I think you just found your madman."

This simply didn't fly with the inventor, "Why do you need it?"

"It's the only way to reach Carlo. I need to come from the sky," was the immediate response.

"Why can't you use Margherita's hot air balloon?"

Apparently, this hadn't occurred to him, as his arms came to rest beside his torso. Turning his gaze to the female he asked, "Would the hot air balloon work?"

"Well, we all know it flies," she responded. "How far would it need to fly?"

He paused for a moment, calculating. His honey eyes sparkled as he came to an answer, "From the Thieves Guild to the palazzo."

Drawing a mental map in her head, she devised just how far the two buildings were. "I would probably need to build another burner since it would require more fuel. It would take some time, though."

"How fast can it go? Can its direction be controlled? How thick is the fabric?"

Blinking in the face of the onslaught of that bombardment of questions, Margherita tried to estimate, "The speed would vary on the force of the wind, as would the controls. I never made it to move any other way that vertically… I don't even know if it _can _be navigated… maybe, if someone pulled on the rope from down below. As for the fabric, it's pretty thick, but not impenetrable. Why?"

"I just wanted to know if arrows could pierce it."

"So, you're expecting some archers. Then the navigation from the ground is out of the question." Seeing his confusion, she explained, "If the person on the ground is attacked and releases the rope… actually, I should say people since I can't imagine a single person being able to hold that weight… the balloon would take off even higher in the sky. Then, the fuel would dissipate even faster in the higher atmosphere and when it runs out the balloon would descend far too rapidly… it would probably crash. Assuming the fabric wasn't pierced by arrows, 'cause then it would definitely crash. It would be too vulnerable. Uh… sorry, dude."

She had watched as his face slowly dissolved into desperation as she had killed his hopes. The hot air balloon was too slow, too cumbersome. Their only hope was the flying machine… That could, you know, kill him. As far as he and Leonardo were concerned.

Leonardo refused to let Ezio on it until he had gone over the machine with a fine-tooth comb, making sure it hadn't been damaged over the course of time. It had taken a bit of a beating when they had been chased on their way to Forli, so its creator had repaired it back to it's original state. The assassin needed to check in with the thieves, and had informed them that he'd be back within the hour and that that was all the time they had to prepare. When he returned, he would attempt to take flight.

"He'll be fine," she tried to reassure the genius as she noticed his shaking fingers, stroking the length of the wood.

"I don't even know whether this could sustain flight for a few moments," he explained. "Ezio will probably end up on the ground, broken beyond repair."

Margherita knew he wouldn't. But couldn't say so, and so she settled for simply placing a hand on his shoulder and saying, "He's jumped from greater heights. I don't think it's possible for him to die."

"Anything that lives can die."

"Anything that dies can be reborn."

* * *

Opting to remain on the ground (figuring it was safer if they didn't have to worry about two people falling to their deaths), Margherita shielded her eyes from the glaring sun as she observed to two up on the rooftop. They and Ezio's flight path were both easily visible from where she stood.

After a few moments, Ezio took flight. Unlike what Leonardo had been fearful of, the flying eagle remained in the air, soaring for a few minutes. Then, he slowly began to descend much too far from the palazzo. His falling was not sharp by any means, but he lost height and continued to glide to the ground. Yes, Margherita suddenly realized, the flying machine was not so much a _flying_ contraption as it was a glider. Something else would be needed to keep the assassin in the air.

She knew it was fire, but when they all met back at the workshop she decided to keep her mouth shut. After all her thievery of another people's work, she simply couldn't steal this brilliant plan from Leonardo. Actually, she refused to steal any of his inventions at all. It just didn't seem right to rob him of the celebrity he deserved.

Leonardo was pacing excitedly, and Margherita was reminded of herself when the hot air balloon had first risen into the air. "I can't believe it! It really worked! You flew! Ezio, you flew!"

Margherita shared a small smile with herself at his joy, since Ezio was sulking. In fact, he was angrily passing back and forth. He obviously didn't find this to be a victory. "Yes… but not very far."

A knocking on the door did nothing to startle the two men, and they continued discussing as Margherita went to open the door. Antonio gave her a half hearted greeting as he walked in, uninvited. She let him, though. It seemed that the Master of Thieves was a wee bit flustered.

"Well, what were you expecting? The machine wasn't designed for distance." When Ezio only stared back at Leonardo, he continued, "Alright, look, let me go over my plans here. Maybe I can find some way to extend the duration of the flight."

Carlo took this opportunity to interrupt. "Ezio! My men tell me Carlo has the poison. We must hurry."

"Poison?" Margherita questioned. What had poison to do with anything?

Antonio finally glanced at her and Ezio introduced them, "Antonio, this is Margherita, a friend of mine. And that is Leonardo. The master inventor… who built this… this…" He dropped his voice to almost an angry whisper, "Piece of shit."

"Hey! It's not the machine's fault! ... It's mine. I've checked and rechecked my blueprints. It's just impossible!" He threw some papers on the ground in his frustration. Margherita winced. She never liked when he was angry. "I don't know how to extend the flight! …" Throwing a crumbled piece of paper into the fire, he yelled, "Crazy fucking idea!"

They all fell silent as the inventor dropped into a seat in front of the fire. Everyone glanced at each other. She knew they were probably thinking "so much for that idea" and she was the only one not worried. But then again, she knew everything.

Watching her mentor, she was the first to witness when he perked up. Yeah, he'd figured it out like the genius he was. "Eureka! Of course! Genius!" He stood up in his excitement and bounded over to the worktable.

Antonio asked, "What is he doing now?"

Margherita knew exactly what her favorite inventor was doing – he was in one of his moods in which the world opens up the heavens and allows him to see all the answers. It seemed Ezio did not, however, because he simply gave a shrug and then focused on what Leonardo was explaining.

"Heat rises," he explained, bent over his paper, scribbling like mad. "It needs fire! Heated air under its wings will lift the machine…"

Ezio approached the preoccupied man, "Leonardo… what good is one fire going to do?"

"Not one fire, Ezio," he continued, "a dozen! Built all across the city!" Antonio and Margherita shuffled closer to get a look at Leonardo's markings on the large map in front of him. "Enough to carry you from here, all the way to the Palazzo Ducale."

"How…?" Antonio questioned. Shuffling even closer, he took in Leonardo's quick scribbles. The thief's face lit up, "Oh! I understand now. My men can do that… but you're forgetting about the guards."

Being the kind of man he is, Ezio had a solution for that, "Don't worry. I will take care of them."

"I'll give the order to have my men move in behind you, and hold the locations. They'll light them all up the second the sun goes down over San Marco…"

And soon, everyone had gone their separate ways: Ezio, to dispose of the guards; Antonio, to prepare his men; Leonardo, to give the machine one last go-over. When Ezio had crashed, the machine had gotten a wee bit scratched, but not a ton. It was still whole, at least.

She tried to joke, "You got that whole "hot air" thing from me, didn't you?"

He wasn't paying attention, still painstakingly going over the machine again and again. Margherita sighed; Leonardo was never any good at emergency situations. Such a perfectionist.

* * *

Breathing through her nose, she tried to stop her repetitive pacing. Back, forth, back and forth. Her bare feet made pitter pattering thuds with each step. She knew that he was going to be okay – duh, of course he was going to survive this mission. So, she wasn't worried… not so much as she was bored. Kind of. Okay, maybe she was a little nervous, but what did they expect? They just shoved her off, back into the workshop and went running off to kill people. Sure, she wouldn't be much help: she couldn't climb, was afraid of heights, and couldn't wield any sort of weapon (even that dagger in the folds of her dress was only for show… and moral support). She'd be a liability and basically useless. So, she stayed back at home like the woman she was. Psh, Rosa was probably allowed out and about.

Finally, she dropped into a chair and settled for tapping her fingers against her cloth-covered knee. The month was still warm, and so the sun set later in the day. Midnight, she realized, it was probably midnight. And the glow from the candles she had lit were making the room even more unbearably hot. The whole room flickered, almost in time with her tapping.

Suddenly a crash upstairs sounded. Jumping to her feet, she yanked her dagger from her dress, far too wary from last time.

"Yo! Hey! Leonardo! Margherita! Is anyone here?"

She knew that voice…

"Rosa?" Margherita tossed the dagger on the table and bounded right up the stairs, skipping two at a time.

"Hurry up!" And Margherita's pace only increased. Nearly passing the door to Leonardo's chamber, she stumbled into the room. A cool breeze hit her exposed skin as she vaguely realized the window was open… but her focus wasn't on that. All she had eyes for was the two people on the floor.

Rosa was kneeling over a half-conscious Ezio. At first, she thought the assassin had exchanged his white robes for crimson until she realized that it was blood. He was covered in it. Normally, she'd assume he was just dirty after an assassination. But his eyes weren't open. And when they did open, as she came to kneel beside him, they were unfocused.

_Honestly, _she thought, grasping his hand, _why this room again? I just got the bloodstains out from last time…_

"Bonjour mademoiselle," he attempted weakly.

Ignoring him, Margherita looked at Rosa, "What happened?"

"He's been stabbed in the shoulder and he got hit by an arrow in his lower back," reaching down, Rosa gripped at his shoulders, "We need to patch him up."

"I'm fine," he tried to protest. The effect was wasted, considering his words were spoken between gritted teeth.

"Let's get him in bed," Rosa suggested.

"You know, he weighs a ton," Margherita said.

"Don't we both know that," Rosa joked. But the two grasped him, Rosa under his armpits, while Margherita moved to pull his legs up. With a groan ripping from all three of their mouths (Rosa's and Margherita's because he was_ heavy_, and Ezio because the movement caused his wounds to be aggravated), they were able to lift him slightly and roll him onto Leonardo's bed. Margherita's hands became sticky with his blood, but she tried to convince herself that it was actually his targets blood – it was much easier to deal with it that way.

When Ezio continued to grimace, shifting to get some of his weight off his lower back injury, they realized that having wounds on both sides of his body would be awkward for positioning, and so, they pulled him into a sitting stance. He wobbled, though, and nearly toppled back down.

"Here, lean back," Margherita commanded as she moved so that she was kneeled right behind him, allowing him to lean back into her.

"Do you have any medical supplies?" Rosa asked, standing straight and wiping her hands on her gritty pants.

"Go downstairs, the room on the right has a room full of corpses. The cabinet across from the door has our first-aid kits."

Once she left, Margherita turned to look down at Ezio. She could feel the warm blood transfer from his open injuries, through her dress, and onto her cool skin. His head was resting back against her collarbone and it seemed that each breath he took caused him pain, as his face was a constant grimace.

Reaching around him, she tried to push his robes from his body, exposing the wound. His sharp gasp made her stop. "No," Ezio grunted, "do it. Ignore me. I'm being a child."

Instead of returning to her original task, she moved a hand up to push his hair away from his face, as gently as she could. "You're entitled to act like a child. You must be in a lot of pain."

Ezio didn't get a chance to respond, as Rosa entered the room, their medical supplies in her arms. Tossing them on the floor next to the bed, she sat down by his torso and roughly pulled the fabric from over his wound. He hissed. Margherita grabbed a small book from the table next to the bed and held it in front of his face. "Bite down," she commanded. He did as he was told, gripping the book's hard, leather cover between his teeth as Rosa smeared some antiseptic on the wound.

"Lucky you, Ezio," Rosa began, pulling a needle and thread from the kit, "You have two girls in bed with you… Bet you didn't think it would happen like this, eh?"

Ezio made a choking sound as the needle entered his flesh. Margherita had to look away, turning her head to the side and burying her nose into his hair. Without opening her eyes, she found his clenching hand, taking it in her own. He relaxed his grip, and instead grasped her hand. When, on reflex, he tightened his hold, she didn't care that his grasp was so bruising that it might snap her hand clean off her wrist.

"Okay," Rosa said, "Time to flip you over."

Pushing Ezio up, they rolled him onto his side and pulled his shirt off completely. This hole was smaller, and much shallower, but it was oozing a putrid green. It was then that they realized Ezio was shaking like a leaf. Bringing a hand to his forehead, Margherita cursed, "He's burning up."

"Poison," Rosa spat.

"What do we do?"

"…I know a doctor. But he's near the Thieves Guild," Rosa took off out of the room. Suddenly, she stuck her head back in, "Try to keep his fever down." And then she was gone.

Margherita opened the window, letting the cool air flood the room before she took off downstairs into the kitchen. Returning with a bowl of water and a cloth, she noted that Ezio had curled even further into a ball, shivering. Setting the bowl on the ground next to the bed, she yanked a blanket up to his chin, then dabbed the wet cloth along his forehead. She was rewarded as he turned his head towards the coolness of the cloth.

Despite his breaths coming out in gasps, he began muttering, "So cold, so cold. Why's it so – cold?"

"I'm sorry Ezio," she tried to console. "It'll be okay, I promise. You'll be okay."

Cracking his eyes, he found her face. She noted that his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. "Margherita?" he asked, "Is that you?"

"Um-huh," she hummed, "I'm right here, don't worry."

"Don't leave." Oh my god, it broke her heart to hear that… that vulnerability in his voice. It was as though he was suddenly a child begging his mother not to leave his bedside because he's scared the monsters will get him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be – she was the normal person, she was the one who cracks under pressure, she needed to be taken care of.

She wanted her mother. Now. Here. Or someone. Anyone. Ezio. She wanted Ezio to be here – not sick Ezio, not weak Ezio, she wanted big, strong Ezio who protects her from the demons she keeps hidden under her fingerless glove, who protects her from her own self-destructive flirtations, who should be here to protect her from this.

But she didn't say any of this, she didn't cry (like she wanted to), she didn't run away (like she so _desperately_ wanted to). She pressed the cool cloth to his temples and whispered, "I'll never leave you."

And he stared at her, moving his mouth to form words he didn't actually speak. Finally, he closed his eyes and he murmured so softly, "I love you," before his body relaxed.

This caused a temporary paralysis in Margherita. Staring down at him, mouth gaping, she didn't move for a long moment… until his stillness worried her.

Dead. He was dead.

Roughly jabbing her fingers into his neck she held her breath, but she couldn't keep count because she could feel her heart racing in her brain. She was just about to take her hands from his neck, and check his heart instead, when Rosa busted through the door with the doctor.

It wasn't until the doctor – much more calmly than Margherita – checked Ezio's pulse, decreed it rapid, but definitely pumping, and then administered the antidote, that Margherita could breathe. Even Rosa collapsed against a wall with no promise of rising again in the near future. But it was Rosa who listened as the doctor explained how to take care of Ezio, it was Rosa who told Antonio and Leonardo what happened after they arrived home to the sight of one invalid and two petrified and exhausted girls, it was Rosa who told Margherita to go get some sleep when the blonde refused to leave her vigil at Ezio's bedside.

She didn't leave, however. Instead, Margherita told Rosa that she was comfortable on the floor, and that she'd promised the assassin that she wouldn't leave. The thief didn't push it, and decided to take Margherita's bed, if she wasn't going to use it.

And so, Margherita sat in the darkness, staring at Ezio's slackened jaw, drooling onto the pillow like he was accustomed to doing. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, making sure it never stuttered. She brushed his hair from his face and counted the scars on his hands, arms, and chest, anything that was exposed to her perusal.

When he did wake up, he didn't speak except to warn them that he wasn't safe anywhere in Venezia and that he didn't want to burden anyone by remaining there. Once Antonio was certain Ezio could survive transport, he devised a plan in which a cart would arrive at the workshop, Ezio would be smuggled into it, and the cargo within the cart (the assassin included) would be removed from the city. Probably back to Florence. Maybe Monteriggioni.

It wasn't until after he was conscious and then immediately whisked away by the thieves to anywhere except Venezia, as he was a wanted criminal now, that she even bothered to remember that this was a game… he couldn't be killed.

Margherita had had nothing to worry about… She was just being overly dramatic.

As she watched from her bedchamber window as Ezio left the workshop, hidden within the cart, still half conscious, she muttered, "Stupid boys."

**End Part III**

* * *

_Preview of upcoming chapter:_

_Reaching out with absolutely no hesitance, as was his natural ability, his calloused fingertips came to dance along her collarbone, slipping along the pronounced bones, hidden under the stretched silken skin. "Have you been in Venezia long? I've never seen you here before… though, I've been absent for a while."_

_Pausing for a moment, Margherita let that comment rotate in her head for a moment… surely he was joking, yes? Dude, he was an assassin! He should be able to spot her a mile away simply by her swagger. Yeah, that glint in his eyes definitely seemed more teasing than predatory. He must be joking._


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Well, I have homework to do still and I'm far too tired to stay up till midnight to post this then, so I guess you'll will just have to get your new chapter now. Tough luck, right?**

**In European History, I'm doing a research paper on women during the Italian Renaissance and have stumbled upon tons of information that I wish I could inject into my story. As it is, I've already added a side-plot (it's foreshadowed in this chapter, but I've just started writing the scenes for it in the next chapter) just from the inspiration I've gotten while researching this topic. And I've yet to find stuff that contradicts the details of my story (yay for Ginny and her perfectionist habits that force her to double-check every little descriptive word!). If or when I do, it'll probably bug me so much that I'll edit the chapter. Because I'm anal like that.**

**Speech season is starting, so we'll see if next week's chapter happens on time as I'll need to switch focus to writing my original oratory. Ugh.**

**Can I also just tell you that the fluff-scene (you'll know which one I'm talking about once you reach it) in this chapter makes me go "aww" everytime I read/edit it. I think every girl who has freckles has dreamed of a boy taking the time to count them. It's just so romantic.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

**Begin Part IV **

A year dragged on. Margherita took to writing philosophy. Until she remembered that philosophers were considered heretics. So… she took to writing stories, novels, books. Mostly, she stole from Shakespeare. Well, she copied the plots and main characters, but she simply couldn't bring herself to remember any of the poetic language. English was her worst subject and translating Shakespeare into contemporary language was impossible for her, so doing the reverse was even more terrible.

She also tried to dabble in medicines. As the medical advancements were near to none here, her progress was quick. Suddenly, she was a person to watch. Combined with Leonardo da Vinci, their fame grew. And the inventor benefitted exponentially as more patrons came to commission the artist. Then, when scientists came to commission Margherita's advice, Leonardo was also often consulted.

It wasn't until a high-ranking man requested her company for – uh, other things – one night that she realized she was considered by and large as a courtesan.

"I don't get it, Leonardo, how the hell did this happen?" she had asked near the very end of that year, finally fed up with the requests.

"The only unmarried women with your level of education and intelligence are honest courtesans," he had explained. "They are the only ones allowed to participate in open conversation like you do, and they are often surrounded by men of consequence, just as you are."

"Are you sure it isn't just because I'm kind of slutty?"

"Well, you certainly are flirtatious with those poor men… they'll never know what hit them, will they?"

Laughing a wicked cackle, Margherita had disappeared through the front door, on her way to meet with Rosa – the thief had taken to pick-pocketing the rich men who tried to pick at Margherita's brain. She refused to meet them in closed spaces ever since one had tried to feel her up. Now, they walked through the streets in random patterns as Rosa trailed after the group, pick-pocketing the unsuspecting men as they were pointedly distracted by Margherita's pronounced cleavage. The girl got twenty percent of the earnings, so she was more than happy to pull her bodice down ever-so-slightly.

As for Ezio, according to Rosa, who heard from Antonio, the assassin had indeed returned to Firenze, under Lorenzo de Medici's protection. But, rumor had it, not before making a – um – pit stop in Forli. Margherita didn't care either way.

At least, that's what she told herself. That stupid assassin had managed to turn her world onto the wrong axis with his feverish declarations of love. Which she chalked up to his having been poisoned. But… that didn't stop her from kind of hoping it was true. And then hoping it was not true. And then hoping that he _did_ love her because she really couldn't figure out why whenever Leonardo mentioned his name she instantly felt her heart sink. She wondered often if that was love. Or a sexual draught.

Either way, she refused to take another man to her bed. Only Ezio was allowed there.

She didn't trust anyone else.

* * *

As Carnevale dawned, Margherita prepared to attend. Curling her hair using strips of cloth, she twisted it up and then she bent over the tiny glass mirror she had bought with some of her savings from the hot air balloon (which would be flying high that night, decorated in sparkly things for any young lovers who were willing to pay) and applied her kohl, vermillion lip paste, and rouge. Satisfied, she moved to the article of clothing laid out on her bed. She smiled as she remembered how it had come into her possession.

"This mask is beautiful, Leonardo."

The inventor had turned around and glanced at the object she had picked up, "Oh, why thank you Margherita. It's yours."

"What?"

He had smiled and explained, "When I was making it, I envisioned it on your face. So, it's yours."

Rushing to hug him, she had thanked him again and again. The mask was painted a sea-foam green with teal cracks working their way aggressively from where her left cheek would be, all the way across, decreasing with distance. Broken beyond all repair. It was bordered with the same teal as the cracks, and covered everything except her mouth and her eyes. Eagle feathers, tawny and simple, fanned out along the border of the mask. She had been tempted to sprint up the stairs and check her reflection in the mirror.

The only thing that had stopped her was Leonardo, who had promised, "And that's not all."

Leading her to a trunk in his own bedchamber, he had pulled out a richly decorated dress, the same teal as the accents on the mask. "Besides you," he had said, "this was the inspiration for the mask."

"How, how did you afford this?"

"It was my mother's. My father… rewarded her with this after my birth."

She hadn't pushed the issue (couldn't, really, because she was too focused on the garment and she was just insensitive like that). Instead, she had grasped at the dress like a babe grasps at any finger extended to it. Silk. It was silk!

"I inherited it and I always thought I would someday give it to my daughter," he had explained. "But, we both know that that's never going to happen and I thought since this is so close to your twenty-seventh birthday, you'd appreciate it."

And this was the same dress she cautiously picked up and stepped into. Lacing in the front (thank Gucci, otherwise Rosa's help would have been required) she tightened the corset until her breasts were up and out and happy. Sliding into some slippers, she finally turned towards the mask sitting on her dresser. She delicately placed it right over her painted face and tied the ribbons in the back.

All set.

Margherita descended the stairs in her dress and mask, all dolled up, with the same grace she'd decided long ago to reserve for strolling down the stairs to greet her prom date, when she would finally be allowed to attend prom as a senior. God, she was nearly twenty-seven, where had the time gone? Nearly a decade, she realized. Damn.

Instead of her prom date, Leonardo was there to greet her and he seemed overjoyed. "The outfit becomes you," he commented as he twirled his finger, silently asking for her to do the same.

She consented and then smiled broadly. Oh my god, he sounded so homosexual that Margherita had to stifle a giggle. Maybe she was just high on the adrenaline?

"Why, thank you, dearest," she replied with a snobbish air.

Leonardo seemed perplexed for a moment, "You don't sound like yourself…"

"My cold, I'm still getting over it," she stroked at her throat. A week before, she had come down with a mild fever and a sore throat. Having lost her voice for a day or two, it was still raspy.

When the inventor looked her up and down again and gave another beaming smile, all she could do was hug him. Such a wonderful gift he had given her… and not just now. His hospitality had always astonished her and considering the fact that they had been roommates for ten years now, she would be eternally grateful to this man. He was like a brother and a father all rolled into one. And he was the only sort of family she had in this time period.

She caught him sniffing loudly into her neck.

"What is that odor you have about you?"

"Ah, I switched my perfume… what do you think? Rose was nice and everything, but I think I'm more a lavender person."

He gave another sniff and nodded, "Yes, I say stick with the lavender; rose is too innocent but the lavender makes you seem just about as virtuous as you actually are."

Before taking her leave, she gave him a joking punch in the arm.

As Margherita perused the streets lit with Carnevale fever, she was reminded of Halloween. A time to hide your face and slip into the festivities. Ash Wednesday would soon be upon them and she had every intention to live it up here for as long as she could before everyone bowed their heads in prayer. Normally she didn't roam the streets during the parties. Instead, she stayed close to her hot air balloon and let people ride it once the skies had darkened. Tonight, she finally got to enjoy herself, as Leonardo's newest assistant would be in charge of that.

Just as she was turning a corner, Margherita caught a glimpse of two lovers embracing down one of the alleyways. Two men, she realized. And her heart went out to them. Those poor lovers, having to keep to the shadows. She had learned that many men didn't necessarily identify themselves as homosexual (or sodomites, as they called it here… the term "homosexual" was not typically used), but that liaisons between people of the same sex did happen here. Women who engaged in such activities were typically ignored, but for men it was a serious crime to be caught. Sodomites were arrested and killed. Leonardo abstained from such activities for the same reason.

"Miss! Oh, young miss!"

Margherita glanced over at the man trying to get her attention. He was fat. No thanks. She turned and continued walking. Maybe if she got lost in the crowd she could escape the unwanted attention? Goodness knew some of her previous conquests were still lurking about and she honestly didn't want to run into them.

Something grabbed hold of her wrist. After trying and failing to yank herself free, she twisted to face her attacker. The fat man.

"What do you think you're doing?" she huffed, finally ripping her appendage from his grasp. There was something about these aristocratic clothes that made her suddenly so snobbish (yeah, like she wasn't already).

"Ah, a feisty one!" he grinned from under his mask at the same time she paled under hers. That kind of exclamation was never a good thing. "Perfect!" Reaching for something on the back of his belt, he paused and Margherita almost made a break for it right there. A knife?

She blinked as a ribbon was stuffed into her hands.

"Just give that to the man who charms you the most," explained the man – gamekeeper, she realized, he was one of the gamekeepers for that stupid game to win a mask or something. Yeah, she already had a mask, thank you very much.

"I know the most charming man in all of Italia but he is not in Venezia at the moment," she tried to hand the ribbon back, "so I won't be a very fair judge."

He just gave a Cheshire grin and replied, "You're a shrew, then. So, you'll certainly be a challenge for the competitors. Have fun," before he disappeared back into the crowd.

Sighing, she tied the ribbon around her wrist and kept moving. They were selling adorable trinkets over at a stand across the street and she wanted to repay Leonardo somehow.

* * *

Even though she was apparently partaking in the games, she didn't even notice that they were going on… not, that is, until some jack-off bumped into her in his haste to capture the flag. He practically close-lined her, sending her sprawling on the ground. Her head hit the stone-paved road with a sickening thud and she couldn't see straight as she opened her eyes and saw only white… no, no, there was brown – tan… a tawny visage amid the stark white and gold of the mask that hid his face but she could recognize the details of that man anywhere, mask or no mask, as they came into focus. Especially the eyes. The eyes always gave him away.

"Hello, beautiful," the assassin greeted.

There was a brief moment where all she could do was gape up at him. God, it had been far too long. Before she could even blink, Ezio had swooped her up right off the ground and set her back on her feet gingerly. His hands lingered on her waist, the way they always had, his fingertips caressing the silk with the deliberate teasing he was known for.

Finally he removed his hands from her completely, took a step back and gave a pronounced bow before sprinting off. She was almost offended before she remembered that he was actually in the games. Why hadn't that occurred to her before? Deciding that it didn't matter, she simply hoped she'd get to see him again… maybe corner him in the alley…

And see him again she did. Margherita was standing amid a gaggle of admirers, watching in awe as the fire-breather shot a stream of flame from his mouth almost effortlessly. Clapping right along with the crowd, she neglected to notice the blur of white as it appeared next to her.

"It seems you didn't let getting knocked down keep you from having a good time," a voice spoke into her ear.

Jumping and giving a very unlady-like yelp, she twisted to face the voice. She couldn't help the fluttering in her heart. Or chest area. She preferred to think of it as her chest area because the word "heart" was mushy and stupid and she was neither of those things. But, damn, was it good to see this man. Even with the mask covering most of his face, those shining honey eyes – nearly yellow now, flickering in pre-maturely lit torches – were more than visible and his mouth (the same she had tasted time and time again… and wished to taste some more) was moist as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, apparently noting her gaze.

Deciding to play coy, she lifted her already raspy voice a pitch higher and drawled, "Having a good time is something I know very well."

Smirking he replied, "Well, that sounds promising." Reaching out with absolutely no hesitance, as was his natural ability, his calloused fingertips came to dance along her collarbone, slipping along the pronounced bones, hidden under the stretched silken skin. "Have you been in Venezia long? I've never seen you here before… though, I've been absent for a while."

Pausing for a moment, Margherita let that comment rotate in her head for a moment… surely he was joking, yes? Dude, he was an assassin! He should be able to spot her a mile away simply by her swagger. Yeah, that glint in his eyes definitely seemed more teasing than predatory. He must be joking.

She decided to go along with it, "I arrived two months ago," she lied. "And I certainly have never seen you. Which is a shame."

With a chuckle she could only describe as deviant, he engulfed her petite hand in his much larger one and tugged her gently from the group. She followed, obligingly; almost curious about how far she could take this little joke. "Let's go somewhere a bit quieter, shall we?"

They ended up at the mouth of a dark alleyway, a ways off from the festivities. The fire-breather was still in sight, and she made a point to ignore the assassin for the moment, instead observing with feigned (kind of) interest as the fire breather appeared to swallow the flame, only to spit it back out in small bursts, rising into the atmosphere before dissipating into smoke that curled around and around and around.

This playing hard to get was something she had learned long ago. If he knew who this vixen was in front of him, then he gave no sign. For now, she'd treat him as the target he was. Let him be on the other side of the food chain for a while.

"What is your name, beautiful?" he asked, leaning down closer to her, trying to draw her attention back to himself.

Ah, so he truly had no clue who she was… this could be far too much fun.

Giving him a dismissive glance, she simply stated, "I'd ask you yours, but I don't think you'd tell me."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're a wanted man, assassin."

He coiled, and she definitely caught a glimpse of the way his wrist flexed involuntarily. Suddenly, she realized how quickly her fun could get her killed when dealing with a man like Ezio. Of course he was protective of his identity. One wrong word from her, even this far from the crowd and there would be no stopping her before she could scream. He couldn't afford to take those kinds of chances. And she knew this. She knew this too well.

Trying to backtrack before she got a hidden blade between the eyes, she spoke quickly, "Don't worry, I had many vendettas against Carlo Grimaldi and Emilio Barbarigo."

"And Giovanni Mocenigo?"

"Ah," yes, she recalled how Ezio had been blamed for that little hiccup as well. He'd been attempting to prevent the Doge's murder and get the Templar Carlo beforehand. Antonio had explained that the assassin had been too late and both men had died. And from the rumors that circulated Venezia like wildfire, she knew Ezio was blamed for the Doge's death… and an ordinary citizen wouldn't know the truth, now would they? So once again, she lied through her teeth.

"Well, he was a bit weak, but not entirely unpleasant. I never did understand why you'd have gone after him… but it doesn't matter, you've done good by me, my assassin."

Under his mask, she noted the way his eyes squinted at her, before suddenly glazing over. She recalled how he'd mentioned once the way he could tell friend from foe, enemy from treasured ally without ever having spoken to them. He called it his "Sight". What he meant was his Eagle Vision, but apparently he'd never learned the true word for it. And by the way his gaze flickered along her face, before glancing over her shoulder, then back down at her again, she knew he was using it now, assessing whether the woman would stab him in the back the first chance she could get.

Relaxing, he gave a lopsided grin, "You are using such possessive language already. Such I be fearful?"

Bringing both her hands to his shoulders, she pushed her bust against his armor, just hard enough so that she knew he could feel the heat, as she leaned up and whispered into his ear, "I'm not the dangerous one."

The vibrations of his chuckles shook her as he pulled back, letting his raspy laughter blow his warm breath across her face. His eyes were crinkled under his mask, and it gave her great joy to know that it was she who had caused this mirth. She could bring him joy with a few witty comments. Maybe she did love him? Who knew?

Finally, his breathing leveled out and his neck gave a soft pop as he bent slightly to reach his lips closer to hers, his eyes dropping closed. Suddenly, a finger was placed over his lips, preventing further movement.

She didn't know when she'd get another chance like this – he was totally unaware of her real identity… she could ask him anything (within unsuspecting limits) and he would answer with ignorant honesty. His words would not be held back with regard for her, bent into kinder syllables for her benefit. Vaguely, she recalled the old adage of "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

_What could it hurt? _she wondered. _I flirt all the time… even with him in mind. But that isn't any sort of betrayal. It's not like I'm cheating on him, not like Bartolo. So I can excuse his quips, his caresses now. But if he truly cares about me, he will only go so far here… _

"Have you a paramour?" she asked.

_If he says "yes", then he loves me. If he says "yes", it isn't all in vain. _She stared straight into his honey eyes and counted the yellow freckles that dotted his irises.

It was a game she played when they would bask in the afterglow. If he didn't immediately fall asleep afterward, she'd drape herself over his relaxed body and lean her elbows on either side of his head. Her nose would be exactly two inches from his own and she'd just stare right down at him.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"I _was_ counting. You've distracted me and now I have to start all over again."

"So sorry."

"It's fine, just stay still."

Silence.

"Stop blinking."

"What? Why?"

"Because I keep losing count."

"Mademoiselle, you are an odd little shrew."

"A shrew? Have you any intention of taming me?"

"Is it possible to tame a shrew?"

"According to Shakespeare, it is."

"Who is Shakespeare?"

"No one of much importance – Ezio, stop blinking!"

Giving a sharp laugh that bounced Margherita as his body shook, Ezio ignored her request and instead shut his eyes tightly. This only caused Margherita to groan. Honestly, she finally had the chance to do this with actual sunlight and he was ruining it. Usually, their activities existed only at night, but he'd stopped by in the later afternoon. The sun wouldn't set too soon, but the two were extremely tired and ready to sleep.

"Ezio, open your eyes!"

"Not until you tell me what it is you are counting."

"I'd rather not."

"Then I intend to go to sleep right now and my eyes will not open for several more hours."

"…"

When she didn't make a move to respond for at least a minute, but Ezio could still feel the heat of her gaze ripping across his face, he finally cracked an eyelid. Yeah, she was still glaring down at him. So, he shut his eye quickly and remained as such until she finally huffed.

"Fine! I'm counting… the flecks in your eyes."

In her surprise, he looked up at her, unaware that the widening of his eyes gave her easier access… but she didn't begin counting again because Ezio asked, "Flecks?" He suddenly tried to sit up, "I have something in my eyes? Why didn't you tell me?"

Sighing, she pushed him back down, "There's nothing in your eyes that shouldn't be there. The color of your iris has different dimensions. It's something you're born with. Your eyes are mostly a light brown… but they have sprinkles of yellow. So, they usually look like honey."

"Ah… how sweet… literally."

She gently swatted the side of his head before she got back to work. While she mentally catalogued each little discrepancy, she ignored the way his own eyes searched deep into the depths of hers. Eventually her head ended up dipping farther, farther, farther, until it crashed against his collarbone and remained there until he rolled her over and took her place, staring down at her from above.

When they woke up the next morning, Margherita was curled on the side of the bed and Ezio was stretched on his back. Grumbling, she twisted over to find his focus on the ceiling. Crawling across the distance, she buried her head into his chest and sighed as his arm came around her, encouraging the closeness. "Anything interesting up there?" she asked into his muscled pectorals.

"Not really," he replied. The two coexisted in silence before, "Five hundred and twenty-seven."

"Hm?"

"You have five hundred and twenty-five freckles on your face. It got too dark to count before I could get to your neck or shoulders."

She glanced up, nearly bumping his chin in the process. His gaze was still on the ceiling. This did nothing for her, not in the least bit; she wanted to see his face. She wanted to see his eyes. He was always so expressive, but his eyes screamed whatever was on his mind.

Deciding it didn't matter, she just ducked her head back down, snuggling into his warmth as she felt his grip on her tighten.

* * *

_If he says "no", I'll never dwell on these thoughts again. _

She removed her finger from his lips, allowing him to voice aloud his answer.

"None whatsoever."

It took her a moment to process his words… It was as though the letters had been drowned in the canals and then muddled underwater, only to rise and try to pass through her ears.

This hurt her more than she could imagine.

Breathing out of her nose, she forced herself to smile. When she was younger, her mother would play the same CD every time they were in the car. Most of the songs she used to know had faded from her memory, replaced by the ballads she had learned while living here. But one song particular stood out… one she and her mother would belt out as they sped down the highway. _Don't cry out loud. Just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings. Fly high and proud._

So, she took the black emotion crawling up her throat and swallowed it, and shoved it deep into her gut. She could feel her smile falter as the blackness settled into her very marrow, but she quickly regained her confidence.

Pushing a ringlet from off her shoulder, Margherita fluttered her eyelashes up at him, "Good, I would hate to steal another woman's man."

"Then tell me, am I stealing another man's woman?"

"Oh, no. I am free as a bird and flying high and proud." Pausing, she smirked up at him, "Actually, I just got out of a relationship. Stupid boy broke my heart."

Ezio shared in her smirk. "Mm, well, I suppose I'm just going to have to fix it for you…" His fingers tickled up her ribs, before one hand came to cup her breast. Just as his mouth sucked her earlobe into his wet cavern and his hand squeezed gently around her plump flesh, a gamekeeper's voice rang out.

"Who is the most charming man in all of Venezia? Step right up!"

Giggling, Margherita detangled herself and pushed Ezio gently towards the gamekeeper. "It would be a shame if you missed out on so easy a win."

"Then we shall pick this up later?" he asked, still refusing to go.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Ezio slipped in and out of the crowd, using his above average height to search out the girls who held the ribbons (and therefore his very fate) in their hands. The goal of this game was to track down these particular females and have the majority when all was said and done and the participants had returned to the gamekeeper. Being of a charming disposition, the assassin was able to secure what was probably the majority (if it wasn't, then he had vastly underestimated the female population in Venezia) and he had originally been on his way to return to the gamekeeper… until, that is, he recalled the pretty little thing he'd left near the alleyway and the pretty little ribbon tied around her wrist.

It was time to pay her another visit and secure his conquest for the night.

Sure, he figured, as he stalked the streets that were all ablaze with the lit torches, he could always track down Rosa and satisfy his needs… or, better yet, make a stop at Leonardo's workshop and have Margherita – goodness knew he hadn't seen her in a year…and his body missed her.

But despite the more than willing participants, this mysterious female that was dressed like a noble, hidden behind a mask the color of the waves Venus herself had rode to shore on, was at the forefront of his mind. She had the same rare beauty Margherita possessed – blonde hair that appeared natural and dancing blue eyes. In fact, he'd almost been convinced that it had been Margherita that had been shoved to the ground. He had quickly realized that it wasn't. The difference was that Margherita walked with steps that were almost predatory, stalking her prey before gobbling them up. This lady sat and drew her prey to her. Which was much more graceful. And her voice had a rasp to it that reminded Ezio of the morning after a rather vocal session and a perfume that was far less floral than Margherita's.

A flash of teal drew his attention back to the crowd. Ah, there was his noble lady.

It had been so long since he'd had a woman of any prestige… he wondered if this one would pretend to be just as shy in person, but a wretched hellcat in bed as he remembered the other noble girls being. It wouldn't be long till he found out.

"Ah, beauty, I thought I had lost you," he commented, coming up behind her.

She spun to face him, apparently caught off guard from being addressed. Recovering with the grace only a noble woman possessed, she smiled gracefully, "Ah, if I was lost how is it that you were able to find me so easily?"

"Your heart draws mine, regardless of distance."

"How tragically romantic. But I think your lips can be used for better things than spouting poetry."

"I think I shall most certainly prove that… later."

"Later? You intend to keep temptation just out of my reach in some attempt at increasing the desire? How torturous of you."

Grasping her hand, he smirked, "My intention is not to harm you, beautiful, nor would I ever withhold pleasure were it is deserved. But I have to finish these games, you see. And then I shall return."

"So, my only use to you is the ribbon on my wrist?"

It seemed she had noted the way his fingers were slipping amid the silk strip, teasing it into loosening. "No, no, no," he cooed. "I have all the ribbons I need, but I was hoping that you would give me yours as a promise… and an invitation for tonight."

Blinking, she tried to pull her wrist from his grip, "Perhaps I have no desire to invite you any other time than now. If you wait, I will surely be swept up by the next man who whispers sweet nothings in my ear. Dare you risk it?"

"If it means gaining your heart and your love, mademoiselle," was all he got out before placing his lips over hers. For a moment she was frozen and Ezio feared she'd push him off and call for the guards but suddenly she was pushing back against him as she responded with vigor he didn't know she possessed. Their masks clanged together, but that gave them no pause.

Without her even being aware, he tugged the ribbon from around her wrist, pulled back – only to have her grasp his collar and yank his mouth right back onto hers – before he detangled himself and disappeared into the night, knowing that if he stayed, things would certainly escalade beyond what he could control.

It wasn't until he was standing on the podium, being declared the most charming man in Venezia, that he realized he'd used the word "mademoiselle".

He'd never called any other female by that title, reserving it only for his good friend, constant ally, and occasional bed partner. Maybe that girl did remind him a little too much of Margherita.

* * *

_Preview of upcoming chapter: _

"_He loves me," she declared, busting into the workshop._

_The inventor stood up straight, surprised at the sudden entrance and even across the room Margherita could hear his neck popping. As he attempted to massage the sore joints, he asked, "Who loves you?"_

"_Ezio." Like a little girl, she skipped over to the table and plopped down, beaming up at her best friend. "Ezio loves me. And I love him. We love each other."_


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Ginny needs her sleep. But you kiddies get a new chapter. Yay. Have fun. I'm gonna go pass out now.**

**There's no preview for the next chapter because I haven't started it yet. Thank you, school. I appreciate your ability to turn honest people into living zombies.**

**Other disclaimer: I am a huge supporter of gay rights. Any views expressed in this chapter do not reflect my true thoughts or feelings.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

Leaning against the alleyway wall (actually, more like supporting herself against the wall because she'd surely collapse to the floor and ruin Leonardo's dress if she let go) Margherita tried to breathe normally. If she had had the presence of mind to think straight she might have wondered whether she was having a panic attack and hyperventilating. But as it was, she was too focused on the fact that Ezio had known all along.

_Oh my god, he knew. That whole time he was just playing me… I thought he had no clue but he only calls me "mademoiselle". He knew. And that means… that means that he does love me._

_He loves me._

_Ezio loves me._

Stumbling off the wall and towards the crowd, she continued in a daze. In the back of her mind she knew the sun was setting and eventually the streets would be totally aglow with torches and that she should probably stop at where the hot air balloon was set up. Leonardo's newest assistant was a younger man who had easily learned how to work the balloon and was now in control of it. The two would split the profits by the end of the night. Also, the inventing genius had a sweet tooth for his newest assistant and how could Margherita not try to make them both happy? Leonardo certainly appreciated Margherita being nice to the young man.

Giving a huff, she tried to steady her feet… she felt drunk. And maybe she was. Drunk on the feeling of reciprocated love.

She needed to tell someone, she realized. She had always been a terrible gossip, but this wasn't gossip… this was a turning point in her life. She was twenty-seven and she was in love and that man loved her back.

Leonardo needed to be informed.

"He loves me," she declared, busting into the workshop.

The inventor stood up straight, surprised at the sudden entrance and even across the room Margherita could hear his neck popping. As he attempted to massage the sore joints, he asked, "Who loves you?"

"Ezio." Like a little girl, she skipped over to the table and plopped down, beaming up at her best friend. "Ezio loves me. And I love him. We love each other."

To give Leonardo some credit, he did try to smile. It ended up looking like he was constipated. Finally he sighed and turned his back to her.

"What?" she asked, jumping up and tugging at his arm, forcing him to spin and face her. "What's wrong?"

"You promised you wouldn't fall in love."

"No, I," actually, she couldn't remember what she had promised. "It doesn't matter now, Leonardo. If we love each other it doesn't matter."

"And how did this come about?"

"Well, this has been something I've been considering for a while… I mean, ever since he had left Venezia. And I know he loves me."

The artist raised a skeptical brow, "He said this? Out loud? – And in the midst of climax doesn't count, Margherita."

Sitting back down and crossing her legs underneath her dress' skirt, she sighed, "No, no, no. He told me he loved me right before he left Venezia."

"…when did he get a chance to do that? Ezio was half conscious by the time they snuck him out…" When Margherita glanced off to the side, Leonardo jumped to the right conclusion. "Margherita! Don't tell me it was when he was practically unconscious!"

"It wasn't," she snapped, finally meeting his furrowed eyes. "Rosa went to find a doctor and Ezio told me he loves me."

"… when he was poisoned? And still feverish?"

"Leonardo! Stop trying to poke holes in my story!"

Placing his clammy hands onto Margherita's milky shoulders, Leonardo attempted to transfer his emotions through his mere touch because this girl was known to misinterpret things. "I am not trying to poke holes in your story. I want you to be prepared for all the possibilities before you jump head-first into this."

"Well," she lightly grasped at his wrists, beaming up at him. "You're right. Maybe he was a little confused when he confessed his love because of his fever but he's back in Venezia and he didn't recognize me in this outfit, so he was flirting and he didn't know it was me – or that's what I thought because he was acting like he didn't know me and I thought he thought I was just a girl in the streets during Carnevale. But then he called me "mademoiselle" – and he only calls _me_ that – and then he kissed me. And let me tell you, Leonardo, I know kisses. And a guy doesn't kiss a girl like that if he doesn't love her. So, sure, that whole feverish confession might have been rather improvised and he probably didn't mean to say it but it's the truth, Leonardo. That kiss proves it."

He attempted to pull his hands from her shoulders, but she refused to release his wrists. With wide eyes, she stared up at him hopefully. He almost couldn't bear to see that kind of an expression. After a few tugs, he finally managed to get himself free and crossed the room. He didn't bother to glance back, knowing that her expression had probably dissolved into desperation.

"I don't know what to tell you, Margherita."

Her voice had a whine to it, "Tell me you support me."

With much effort he did turn around. Because her legs were crossed, her feet couldn't touch the ground and instead they were swinging back and forth in her frustration. Combined with the large skirt that dwarfed her body, she seemed like a child. She appeared to be a little girl, sitting at her father's desk, hoping for his affection and support. And Leonardo wasn't certain he could give it to her. His affection – always. She was his pseudo child, little sister, and true best friend. But her conclusions were faulty.

Why couldn't she see that Ezio would only hurt her? However unintentionally? Why couldn't she see that he didn't love her, not like that? Even the artist – who didn't meddle in romance and love – could see the difference between platonic affection and lovers caresses.

How could he give his support when she would end up crying in his arms later?

"Do what you want," he finally said out loud, adding, mentally, _because you will anyways._ "You're a smart girl," _regarding everything that doesn't have to do with yourself. _"I'm certain you'll make the right decision," _after attempting and failing at all the wrong ones. _"You have my support," _and my love and respect and I don't want you hurt… because I'll never forgive Ezio if he hurts you._

"Thank you," she said breathlessly before pushing herself off the table and joining Leonardo on the other side of the room. Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she left, back to roam the streets and wait for the assassin to find her.

And wait Margherita did. Night fell quickly, and she grew impatient. Sitting amid the darkness was rather boring, especially when she was able to catch a few glimpses of lovers fooling around in alleyways. A year draught made a horny girl very impatient. Finally, when the masses were all aglow with gossip about a murder at the party, she knew the assassin would be there soon. And Ezio loved her. Life was good.

Eventually she grew too impatient. He should have been there. Now. Maybe it was too dark, she decided, and took off towards the center of town. Where would he have gone after the assassination? Not a tavern… sure, people could easily blend in there, but there was no guarantee of safety. Meandering down the road, she attempted to recall what happened after he had killed his target… oh! Yes! He'd gone back to that brothel.

Spinning on her heel, she turned right and continued on, a new hop in her step. Yes, she recalled being terribly disgusted she had been when she'd witnessed the scene where Ezio walks off with the three courtesans and does god-knows-what. But her presence had changed things before… and Ezio loved her, so he wouldn't – couldn't – do anything. And so, she would just stick her head into the brothel, say "hi" and Ezio would go home with her.

When she got there she did a little more than stick her head in… she actually walked right in and glanced around. It had certainly been a while since she'd been in a brothel… and she didn't have a ton of good memories attached to it – she'd been safeguarded in a brothel after Sandra had been killed and everything had gone to shit. Naturally, she avoided the buildings of prostitution after that.

Giggles could be heard upstairs, as could a great deal of moaning, but no one was in the downstairs lobby area, despite there being couches and tables. Taking tentative steps around the ground level, she walked closer to the first door down the hallway. Would it be bad manners to just open the door and glance in?

"Oh! You're so strong!" came a voice further down the hallway. Almost without realizing it, she took off towards that noise. Her pace only increased as another voice joined in, "You're amazing!"

Reaching the door, she stuck her head close to the crack between the wood and the jam. Breathy moans and half-pants filled the silence before, "Girls, girls, there is certainly enough of me to go around. And the night is young, yet."

Reeling back, she could barely think before her fist grasped the doorknob and flung it open.

No one was clothed. A courtesan was straddling legs that poked through, and a courtesan kneeled on either side of the upper-body that was just out of her sight, blocked by the naked back of the courtesan on top. But she knew those legs… black, fine hairs were sprawled along his calves, decorating the tanned skin.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"I'm touching you."

"Ha! I realize that, but it is just my legs. Surely you know I would prefer you to touch just a little more in_ this_ direction."

"You are insatiable."

"And you are caressing my calves."

"… well, you always show my legs such attention, I thought I'd return the favor."

Ezio bit back a moan as she dug fingers into his muscles. God, after running around so often, it felt good to be pampered. Bending down, she placed butterfly kisses up his shin. Her fingers traced over a scar on the side of ankle and she ran her fingertips through his leg hair. "You have such manly legs, Ezio."

"Well, considering I _am_ a man, I should hope so."

She could only laugh around her kisses as she made a quick trail up to his lips.

* * *

Everyone turned around to catch sight of the intruder. The courtesans, in some semblance of modesty, jumped up to over their exposed chests and nether regions. Only Ezio was left, sprawled on the large bed, erect penis sticking straight up. He was confused, as he pushed himself up onto his elbows to glance at what had interrupted his good time. When he realized it was the noble girl from before he stood up and tried to cross the room… but she was already out the door.

Stumbling to put on some pants, he tried to follow, ignoring the calls of the courtesans and the discomfort in his nether-regions. How had that girl known he would be there? Was he mistaken in exchanging a woman of class for a foursome with a group of courtesans?

He caught up to her just as she was half-way down the street, her skirts hiked up to give her more mobility so as to maximize her ability to run. She obviously wasn't expecting him to grab her wrist, because she twisted and nearly fell against him. When she caught sight of his face, she recoiled.

"You bastard!" she screamed, pounding on his naked chest.

Ezio didn't bother to ward off the punches, focusing instead on why she was so worked up, "What's wrong?"

"You bastard!" was all she could repeat.

Finally, he grabbed at her wrists, his temper lost. "Listen, if I had known you'd take my flirtations so seriously, I never would have bothered you."

"Flirtations?" she wailed.

"Yes," he replied shortly. "I wasn't serious! Surely, you should have known that."

She stopped moving for a few long seconds and Ezio released her. She blinked, then reached up to her mask, tugging it off in one swoop. The "trggg" of ribbon tearing was the only noise between them as Ezio glanced at her exposed face.

And his breath caught.

And his heart split.

And he barely noted as she twisted and continued to flee.

… He didn't pursue her. He didn't even watch her go. Of all the people behind that mask, she had been the last person he would have expected. This was Margherita! Sure, she was certainly illusive enough to take on the role of the unchaste noble woman, but Ezio had expected her to be with her hot air balloon or back at the workshop… Carnevale had never really appealed to her… at least that's what he had thought.

But really, Margherita? He hadn't seen her in months – no, a year – but she hadn't smelled like Margherita, she hadn't sounded like Margherita, she hadn't looked like Margherita and she most definitely hadn't kissed like Margherita. How was he to know?

And she knew, he realized. She had most definitely known it was him… she'd even called him "assassin" and she had lied. That little vixen.

Suddenly, Ezio was angry at Margherita in a way he hadn't been since that time they had travelled to Forli and she'd rubbed salt in his wounds regarding his family and his current profession. That wench had known it was Ezio she was flirting with, she knew the way he acted, and she knew that he hadn't know – yet _she_ was mad at _him_? _She_ was the one absolutely distraught?

He hadn't known it was her, so he couldn't be blamed. And it wasn't like he was cheating on her… he had had Rosa many times before and Margherita had showed no signs of caring.

_Damn it, _Ezio finally concluded, _she's made this far more complicated than it should be. _

* * *

Leonardo tried to console the sobbing girl in his arms as he shifted awkwardly to relieve the ache in his knees. This floor was not made for a kneeling position. He'd just crawled into bed, on the very edges of sleep, when the workshop doors had banged open and Margherita's frantic and watery call of, "Leonardo? Leonardo, I need you please!" had gotten him to spring out of bed – worries that Ezio was injured or she was in danger, hastening his steps until he had reached the ground floor and she had flung herself into his bewildered arms. And she hadn't removed herself yet.

There was no need to question why she was in this state, or who had managed to mangle her heart beyond all recognition. Nor was Leonardo one to say "I told you so". Maybe later, he would, when she had calmed down and was breathing normally. Instead, she was dry-heaving and sputtering all at once.

The creak of the workshop doors was heard by only Leonardo, who glanced up and scowled at the assassin.

Ezio in turn, only had eyes for the blonde girl sobbing on the floor. And his hooded eyes were narrowed… ominously. And the weapons on his belt were typically a threat in and of themselves.

The artist knew he had to diffuse this situation almost immediately. With a nod only the trained eyes of a killer would see, he shook his head as if to say, "Not now. She can't handle this right now."

But the assassin still remained standing there.

Finally, Leonardo knew that he'd have to alert Margherita to the other man's presence. "Go," he commanded, and the girl glanced up, confusion etched onto her face. "Ezio, go. Now. Leave."

Margherita twisted around to stare at Ezio through her tangled hair, draped over most of her face and wet with tears. She knew she was an eyesore. Her blonde hair was matted everywhere, her fair skin made her cheeks bright red whenever she was overly excited, enflaming them now. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot and she knew that from her reddened nose dribbled snot she didn't bother to wipe away. There were too many parallels that could be drawn between herself and a wild animal for her liking.

And right now, she was fully prepared to eat flesh.

"How _dare_ you come here? Now, of all times!" The height difference bothered her, but she didn't have the energy to stand. So, she remained kneeling on the floor, enveloped in Leonardo's safe arms.

"What did you expect, Margherita?" he asked.

"I expected some self-control from you!"

"Why? We decided this wasn't an exclusive thing! We are both free to do what we want."

"No, no, no," she pointed a finger at him, shaking her head wildly side to side. "That agreement was void the second you changed the dynamics of this relationship!"

Ezio crossed his arms, "And when did I do this, pray tell?"

"You told me you loved me and then you kissed me like you meant it! People in love don't screw three other women… at the same fucking time!"

"… when… when did I tell you I loved you?" he uncrossed his arms as confusion took hold of his limbs. "I never told you I loved you… not any more than a sister – wait, no, never. I've never used your name and the word "love" in the same sentence."

"Yes you did!"

"You're delusional," he replied shortly.

"No!" she couldn't understand why she felt like a defendant on the stand, trying to explain herself. "You told me you loved me right before you passed out, about a year ago. You said "I love you" to me."

"… while I was feverish? And near death?" Ezio groaned and pulled a hand through his hair, yanking some free from his tie. "That doesn't count! _I _was delusional! I don't even remember that! And I know it certainly isn't true now!"

It was one thing to hear that from Leonardo, it was another for the man she loved to tell her that he didn't love her back. On instinct her fingers dug deeper into Leonardo's shirt and his response was to run a hand up and down her back, noting her distress. But she had one last ace up her sleeve, "You kissed me! You kissed me like you loved me!"

"When?"

"When you stole my ribbon, that's when! You knew it was me! And I know you knew it was me because you called me "mademoiselle". So you had to know it was me!"

Ah, so that's where she'd gotten that ridiculous idea from, Ezio finally put the pieces together. She had assumed that by him using that pet-name, he had known her identity all along. And she loved him, she must, if she was acting this way. And if she loved him and had thought he returned that love, she must be heartbroken right now. It wasn't a feeling Ezio understood very well, as he had never attached himself to women in that way but he could empathize to a degree.

All the angry fled from his body, replaced by pity.

His shoulders sagged, and he tried to explain, "That slipped out, Margherita. I didn't know it was you. I never did… not until you took your mask off. I'm sorry."

She held his gaze for a moment or two before she asked, "You don't love me, do you?"

"No, I'm sorry."

As the tears finally flooded her eyes and traced paths down her cheeks, she turned into Leonardo's shoulder and tried to quiet her weeping… ending up with small whimpering hiccups that rattled her body.

Finally, Ezio made eye contact with Leonardo, who had remained silent throughout everything. The inventor gave another small shake of his head and Ezio took this as a sign to leave, disappearing without a single bit of noise.

* * *

"You love him," Margherita tried to sound neutral and ignore the pain she felt in her own heart as she nonchalantly accused Leonardo. It had only been two weeks and wounds were still very fresh.

Leonardo's hand stuttered and he nearly ruined the painting he was working on. "W-what?" he asked, pulling his gaze so fast up to meet hers that he wondered whether his eyes might spin around into the back of his head.

"Francesco," she replied easily. "You love him."

Getting back to work, and deciding to ignore her, he scoffed, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You look at him the same way that I… you look at him with a certain glint in your eye. You love him."

"He is a man. It does not matter."

"So what if he's a man?"

"I could be arrested. Killed!" Shaking his head, Leonardo continued, "Honestly, Margherita, you have such liberal ideals."

"These practices are not uncommon, my friend," she said as she rounded the table and tried to catch his eye. "Many men engage in homosexual encounters."

"That does not make it any less illegal!"

"Fine."

* * *

Margherita had just finished a sonnet when discreet moans could be heard elsewhere. There was a brief moment when curiosity stood to the forefront of her mind and she slid her chair back to go look for the source… that is, before she arrived at Leonardo's bedchamber door. Oh. Well. Best leave them be.

Wait. She suddenly recalled how Leonardo was practically incapable of knocking on doors and how his incapability often resulted in the artist catching her in tons of compromising positions. Well, Mister Artistic Genius, revenge was a bitch.

Her hand was not two centimeters from the doorknob when the smacking sounds became more prominent. _Did_ she really want to see them making out? Really? Truly? Nah.

So she left the hallway and bounced down the stairs only to stop dead in her tracks. Well, actually, her mind paused momentarily as she caught sight of the man standing in the threshold of the opened door and her feet continued forward… and by the time her mind caught up to her feet, she has slid to her ass, her tailbone banging at an odd angle against the steps. Her brain was too filled with the resounding, "Motherfucker, that hurt!" that was echoing in her head to notice Ezio's quick footsteps until he was suddenly at her side, gliding his eyes over her form to assess the damage before catching her gaze.

Stunned, she could only stare back at him.

_Maybe he…_ No. No, no, no. That was no where she intended to go. Nope. No way. So sorry.

She bowed her head to avoid his face.

So, the two existed in silence before she pushed herself up and stood on shaky legs. He didn't try to help, but Margherita could feel his gaze on her back as she walked away to the main table and closed her sonnet book with a decisive snap. Taking a deep breath she knew he could hear, she steadied her thoughts and feelings and actions.

And then she turned around. His face was clad in shadows, outlined by the darkness as his cheekbones were protruding from the black and nose was angled out defiantly. She couldn't see his eyes and she honestly didn't like that. It hadn't been long before she had realized that those robes were his safety-blanket. He had told her that within those first few days of wearing it, with each shift of his body a burst of his father's scent would crawl up to his nose and so the father was never that far away. Even now, sometimes remnants of that scent would surprise him. And his hood protected his identity, allowed him the anonymity he had lost with his family. Whenever he felt unsafe, his eyes would stay obstructed by the white fabric.

"Why?" she croaked out. Honestly, she had originally constructed a full sentence but it got lost somewhere.

He understood anyway. It was the mental wavelength they shared. "I found another Codex page."

Nodding, (because she didn't trust herself to speak again) she turned to glance at the staircase. Nope, there would be no way of grabbing Leonardo away from his boyfriend. Without turning her head from the staircase, she reached a hand out for the page. Once the coarse parchment grazed her fingertips, she closed her fist and glanced at the litter of scribbles across the page.

"No," she forced her voice to be steady. "I can't do this. Leonardo is - " a thump upstairs vibrated all the way down to their level, " – busy," she finished dryly.

"Is he… all right?"

"Yeah," sighing, she finally glanced at Ezio, just in time to spy him pulling down his hood. When her knees stopped wobbling, she continued, "He's fine. If you stop by tomorrow, he'll probably have it done." And then she took off towards her little workshop.

"Actually," her brain paused to listen, even when her feet did not. "I wanted to talk to you."

Over her shoulder she forced out, "I think we've done enough talking," just before she made it out of the room and into her workshop. She waited until she heard the front door close before she slid to her knees and sobbed quietly.

* * *

"You love him, you love him," Margherita sung in a baby voice as she followed Leonardo through the throng of people in the marketplace. "You want to hold him, you want to squeeze him, you want to kiss him…"

"Margherita! Stop this ridiculousness at once!"

"It's true, lover-boy, don't try to deny it!"

The artist glared at her, twisting his neck to see her from her position almost directly behind him, walking in step with Rosa.

"Ha!" the thief gave a little chuckle, "Do not look so upset, Leonardo," she said, "You are a man in love… there is nothing to be ashamed about!"

This time, his glare was for Rosa as he lowered his voice and furtively exclaimed, "There is much shame in being a sodomite, Rosa."

"Well, I imagine that even if I were a man, I'd still totally tumble with him," said Margherita.

"Oh, please, Margherita, you have the mentality, sex drive and priorities of a man. You don't have to stretch very far to imagine," Rosa joked.

"Hardy, har, har."

"But really, you've seen him haven't you, Margherita?"

"Well, yeah, Rosa… he lives with us."

"Right, so is he truly handsome?"

"Francesco is utterly breathtaking," she explained, pretending to swoon. "His hair is like golden thread, woven into locks of absolute beauty. His eyes are clear and cerulean, bright like the stars that rotate above us. And his hands – my God, his hands are long and lithe, but strong and so very, very manly. Leonardo, I am so jealous of you, my friend."

"Eh, but is he more handsome than Ezio?" Rosa asked.

She quickly realized something was wrong when the other two fell silent. Glancing first at Margherita, she noted the way the girl hung her head, her blonde hair falling into her face and obscuring her eyes. However, her pursued lips were still visible and Rosa watched as they pressed together till the outline of her mouth was white from the pressure. Then, she looked towards Leonardo, who was observing Margherita with a gaze so nonchalant that the thief might not have recognized the severity, but for the way his knuckles clenched at the box he was carrying.

"Uh… why do I feel like I've just stepped into the Po river with weights tied to my ankles?" she asked, finally sick of the silence.

"It's nothing, Rosa," Leonardo was quick to answer.

"Yeah, it's nothing," Margherita echoed.

Quickly, with reflexes the thief was famous for, she turned the conversation to brighter topics and all was well again just as they reached the workshop.

Margherita was quick to move forward and hold the door open for Leonardo, letting him pass with the box of supplies still nestled in his hands. Rosa made to follow but came up short, smacking into the artist as he paused to survey the scene.

Francesco was sandwiched between two guards as they twisted his arms behind his back and wrestled him to the floor. Already, his face was bleeding and he fell to his knees beneath their abuses. Shackles were removed from one of the guard's belts, but they hadn't seemed to realize yet that there was an audience. The young assistant did, however. His eyes met Leonardo's and he tried to squirm away from the guards, who were already strapping him down.

Promptly dropping the box, and therefore emitting a loud bang that did not go unnoticed by the guards this time, Leonardo moved forward to try to rescue his lover. Rosa too, pulled a knife from goodness-only-knew where. Margherita was the only one to shrink back… men in uniform still managed to frighten her. And, she figured there wasn't much she could do anyways.

Pulling weapons they hadn't had to use yet, the guards faced their attackers.

"What are you doing to him?" Leonardo asked, pausing in mid-step to avoid the sharp end of a long sword as it was pointed at his throat. The other guard came to stand in front of Rosa, his weapon also pointed at the woman. From behind them, Francesco continued to reel against his bindings, a gag making him silent.

"He is being arrested," the taller of the two guards explained.

"And if you do not lower your weapon this instant, you will join him, woman," the other guard jabbed his spear towards Rosa.

With a long gaze at Leonardo, she obliged.

"Why are you arresting him? What has he done?" Leonardo demanded, standing upon his tippy-toes to glance over the guard's shoulder and catch sight of his beloved.

"He is being tried for sodomy."

It was obvious, even from where Margherita stood behind him, that Leonardo gave a great flinch that vibrated straight down his spine and he nearly swooned. Sodomy. Men died for such a crime. And if they suspected Francesco, then they were not too far away from Leonardo as well. Sure, the kid was a nice guy, but Leonardo was much more important to Margherita and so she had to ask, "What proof do you have?"

"The word of a convicted sodomite that claims that this man was a member of a sodomy ring," the guard said, after a brief pause as he realized there was someone else in the room besides the painter and the thief.

"So," she countered, "Your only evidence is the word of a criminal?"

Huffing, the guard switched the point of his sword from Leonardo to Margherita, apparently not liking her tone, "Sodomites are abominations. That is enough proof for us."

Margherita remained quiet and finally he lowered his weapon and bent to yank Francesco up onto his feet via his long blond hair. A startled yelp echoed from the man and Leonardo rushed to his defense. The other guard swung his spear and grazed the artist right in the chest, cutting a hole in his doublet, right over his heart. Rosa and Margherita both had followed after the painter, and managed to grab one of his arms, each, and yank his away from further harm.

"You seem particularly attached to his young man," the armed guard commented.

Before Leonardo could open his mouth, Margherita shot back, "He is a good assistant and a true friend. You would see him killed – hung, flailing in the wind. Of course we are desperate for his safety and his life!"

Instead of answering her, the guard shoved his spear closer to Leonardo's gaping and vulnerable face. The artist didn't even notice because he was still watching the other guard attempt to get Francesco to his feet, and moving. It wasn't until the spear-point bumped his nose that Leonardo glanced at the guard.

"You're Leonardo da Vinci, aren't you?" he asked.

The named man nodded, then went back to watching his lover's misery.

"I've heard about you," the guard continued. "Famous painter… bit of a hermit… never married… suspected sodomite."

This last comment got his attention. "What?"

"Maybe the reason you're so upset is because this man was actually your lover."

"That's absurd," Margherita cut it, yanking Leonardo back another inch so the guard's next jab didn't poke him squarely between the eyes.

"Is it?" the vile man grinned, just as the other guard and his prisoner passed the group. And out they went, taking Leonardo's lover with them.

Francesco was hung the next day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Wow, children aren't you lucky! I managed to whip this out of my butthole… And so, we are finally getting to the less-than-realistic romance part. We'll see about that… I always hate dealing with "I love you, you love me, we're one big happy family" stuff, 'cause it's just not interesting… Or realistic. I jsut don't see Ezio as the "loving" type at all... surely he can woo a girl, but love her and marry her... hmmm. But, his father was able to settle down, yes? I don't know, let's see if I can't do something about that, shall we?**

**Yes, this is short….er, shorter, than normal because it was a good stopping place and I still have English homework to do! Who cares about societies attitudes towards women as depicted in medieval art? I don't. You shouldn't either. At least, not at this time of night… or early morning. Besides, Renaissance art kicks medieval art's ass any day.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

The roles were reversed this time, with Leonardo collapsed in Margherita's arms, mourning his love, the life of his love, and all form of innocence. It was late into the night, and the artist had been inconsolable since the day before. Against Rosa's and Margherita's advice, he insisted on attending the execution.

There had been nothing they could do. Ezio was somewhere unreachable, out in the country and Antonio was with him. Rosa didn't have the authority to rally the thieves and not one of them was willing to risk life and limb for a sodomite, even if they knew Leonardo. And drawing attention to themselves would only increase the chances of the guards returning for the artist. And so, they were left with no options. They sat around in the workshop, abstaining from food, drink, and sleep.

They had been roommates, Margherita and Francesco, so even though they hadn't been particularly close, she couldn't imagine him sitting in prison and awaiting his execution. But first and foremost, she worried about Leonardo. Her beautiful, beautiful Leonardo. If a low-key young man like Francesco could be swept up and shoved on a scaffold, then how easily could they come after the young artist? The same artist who was known for his disinterest in women? Most attributed this to his love for art, assuming his work took too much room in his heart for any wife or paramour. But there were some who knew (correctly) that his disinterest was due to his true love of the male anatomy.

He had confided in her the fact that before they had met, he and three other young men had been charged with sodomy. There had been no need for him to go into details, but Margherita had quickly realized how experienced he must have been and why he had been so hesitant to begin a relationship. He had escaped the noose once, having been acquitted, but whether he could do so again hadn't been known at the time. Whether he could escape hanging now was an entirely separate matter.

"You don't understand," Margherita had tried to explain. "You don't want to be here."

"I need to see," he had croaked. And his grasp on her arm had slipped as his steps faltered. The scaffold had come into sight.

"No, you don't," she had argued. "I've seen people I've cared about killed - " he had given a great flinch at this wording, "- and it's something that you'll never be able to get out of your head. It's not the last memory you want to have of him."

"Please," was all he'd managed to get out.

And Margherita hadn't pushed it. She couldn't. Give him this one request, she had decided. But it didn't make it easier… watching him dragged with his co-conspirators up to the scaffold, each of them one by one dropped and killed.

She had winced and shuttered with each snapping neck. Federico. Petruccio. Giovanni. Sandra. Snap, snap, snap, crack. Blood and cries and nothing she wanted to remember.

So, here they were.

"I can't believe he's gone."

"I know, babe, I know."

"I don't think he really loved me."

"Yes he did; I know he did."

"Those men who were h-h-anged with him, I've seen them before… around."

"So, they were his friends. That doesn't mean anything."

"He was experienced, Margherita… in ways he shouldn't have been."

"He loved you, Leonardo. If he was doing anything before, he probably stopped when you too started up. He is – was a good person."

"…I don't want to remember him."

Margherita tugged a hand through his mussed hair, letting each strand get caught in her fingers and she tried to stifle a cry… only mildly succeeding. A whimper pressed its way out of her pursed lips. How long ago was it that she too wished nothing more than to forget everything and everyone? Especially Sandra. So, she knelt with him under the main worktable, holding her mentor in her arms and hoping she could put his heart back together one day.

"Leonardo! Leonardo!" the panicked voice was heard before the rapid knocking on the door. Even if Margherita had had a chance to disentangle herself, Ezio was far less patient and instead shouldered the door open, bursting into the workshop.

He glanced around wildly, searching frantically for his companions, even if he still wasn't on the best of terms with them. She could almost envision what he was seeing: Leonardo had a habit of organizing his clutter when he was most distraught and the moment they had come home from the execution he had fluttered around his workshop, putting everything away, wiping tears all the while. The workshop ended up totally bare, every painting, sketch, and invention shoved somewhere out of sight. Which made the scene look as though no one lived there anymore… she could almost hear him question, _What happened here and where are they?_

Of course, because they were obstructed by the wooden table, they were just out of his sight. And it seemed the assassin was terribly unobservant in a crisis (which Margherita later found odd, considering the moments he was the most level-headed were when the whole world was falling apart) and almost made to cross the room and fly up the stairs before Margherita called out, "Down here!"

Pausing mid-step and twisting in an attempt to find the voice, Ezio finally caught sight of them, as Leonardo crawled out from under the table first, followed by the blonde.

"My friend!" Ezio exclaimed and crossed to take Leonardo in his arms. And despite the fact that neither of them had been on the best of terms prior to this unfortunate circumstance, their friendship was strong enough to outlast their mild falling out. Even Margherita was relieved to see the assassin, knowing she could stop being the stable one now. "I heard," was all he got out before Leonardo buried his head into Ezio's neck.

When Ezio realized that there was no use talking to the inventor he turned his attention to Margherita and explained, "I just heard. Antonio, as well. I'm sorry we weren't there."

She just shook her to signal that it was okay.

So, he continued, "There have also been rumors…"

As Leonardo's head swung up, nearly hitting Ezio square in the jaw, he asked, "What rumors? What's going on? What are they saying about Francesco?"

The assassin hesitated, suddenly facing the realization that maybe these rumors about his friend were true. As he glanced towards Margherita, she gave a small nod, as though to say, _Yes, Ezio, your treasured friend loves other men. He is a sodomite. But he is your friend and he has just had his lover taken from him, violently, and maybe this same lover was a cheater and maybe he wasn't but it doesn't matter now because he's gone and Leonardo needs you now and I don't care if you think he's no longer masculine or that he's sick because if you recoil from his embrace now I'll take that sword attached at your hip and stick it straight up your ass. _

It seemed that Ezio got the message because his arms tightened around the inventor and he said, "They are saying that your assistant was a sodomite and that you two were in a relationship."

"Oh God," Leonardo proclaimed, as he ducked his head back down.

Margherita mirrored his words, mentally. But not for the same reason. Surely, Leonardo hated his lovers name besmirched but she was more concerned about the fact that the townspeople were under the impression that he was sodomite. And so, he could be next.

Leonardo was in danger.

"How convinced are they that he's a sodomite?" she asked.

"Very convinced."

"Oh God," she echoed. Placing her hands on her head and ignoring how soaked with Leonardo's tears her dress was, she bemoaned, "What are we going to do?"

"Do?" Leonardo peeked out at her. "Why do we need to do anything?"

"People think you're a sodomite, Leonardo!"

"I am!" he cried, suddenly recoiling from Ezio's embrace and stumbling to bend over the table he had previously been hiding under. His face was hidden from their sight.

"So, you're in danger!"

"I don't care!"

"I do!"

"Well, you've done enough damage!"

She gave one big flinch. Boy, did she know how much she'd managed to fuck everything up. It had started with the Auditores and now it would end with this mess, she decided. There was nothing in the game that suggested Leonardo had ever been in this situation during the legitimate plot. So, it must have been her meddling that caused this tragedy. And she had every intention of fixing it.

"So," Ezio finally spoke up and tried to diffuse the situation as he glanced between the two. "What are we going to do?"

"_You_ are not going to do anything," Margherita shot back, ticked off regardless of his assistance. "We can settle this ourselves."

"And what do you suggest?" Leonardo had calmed down and turned to lean his lower back against the table, crossing his arms and watching Margherita was an even gaze.

"Prove you aren't a sodomite – get married."

A laugh erupted from his mouth, and goodness she wanted it to be anything other than the dead noise that sprung forth. But it was a bitter chortle that rang out in the room. "And what woman would bind herself to me, aware of my… indiscretions? What woman could I stand to remain in my presence, especially now? What woman would accept me and just me, a life forever with no children and an absentminded idiot for a husband?"

She gulped, then straightened her posture, "Me."

"What?" Ezio let out.

"Me," she repeated.

When she was met with nothing except their stunned looks, she explained, "Listen, okay, we've lived together for more than a decade. You're like my brother, father, and quirky uncle all rolled into one. No one needs to know what goes on inside these doors – whether we consummate the relationship is none of their business. I don't expect anything from you – you don't expect anything from me. I love you for who you are. And it's an alibi. No one can call you a sodomite when you have a wife."

"This is sudden, Margherita," he said. His coloring was coming back, though, and a puzzle such as this left him distracted and much more like himself. "People will be suspicious if we suddenly married after years of living together."

"We can say I was your mistress. Your father's a noble, yes, so marrying me would be lowering your rank. But with the recent rumors, I've become jealous and have finally persuaded you into marriage."

"And your other paramours?"

"So I'm a sinful woman? Plenty of women cheat!"

"This is ridiculous!"

"This is necessary! Unless, you want to be hanged and buried right next to Francesco!"

That was a low blow… that was a low blow and she knew it. But then again, she was the queen of low blows. She'd regret it later. But if it kept him safe now, that was okay with her.

Leonardo didn't even bother to respond, instead he bounded up the stairs towards his bedchamber. The two watched him leave.

"Was that necessary?" Ezio finally asked, his gaze still on the upper level.

She didn't bother to look away from the stairs, "It was."

"Are you sure about this?"

Her eyes snapped to meet his blatant stare, now directed towards her. "What do you care?" she asked, bitterly.

"Whatever you think, I _do _care."

The ironic laugh ripped from her throat. "That's a joke, right?' she asked.

He glanced away, before his eyes strained back towards her and he followed his gaze with his steps, taking his time as he moved towards her. Maybe he thought that his proximity might make her believe it more. And maybe, if he touched her – if his flesh made contact with hers – she would change her mind. So, his calloused hands came to rest on her shoulders.

Having become used to his touch, she didn't move under his grip. It was… enjoyable. Until, that is, she remembered why she was mad (furious, heartbroken, destroyed) with him. Flicking his hands away, she ducked and crossed the room.

"I don't see why this is necessary…" his words followed after her.

Giving another heartless laugh, Margherita snarked, "Don't worry, Ezio darling. You're a slut, I'm a whore. It doesn't matter if I'm married, we can still fuck whenever you want." She took a step forward and jutted a finger in his direction, "But beware, Ezio. You can't – can not, never, ever, ever – fall in love with me, because let me tell you how messy that shit gets!"

Frowning, he crossed his arms and shook his head. "I'll come back when you're in a better mood." He was halfway across the room when her voice stopped him.

"Just don't bother coming back," she said, turning her back on him. "We don't need you and we don't want you."

* * *

Ezio was hesitant to return to Venezia. He knew he needed to; Lorenzo needed a man assassinated back in the floating city but the young Auditore wasn't entirely certain he wished to stumble back there… he might run into Margherita or Leonardo. And he wasn't sure which was worse. After successfully avoiding that city, he was finally returning not three months later, unsure about what he would be greeted with.

Rosa smiled down at him from the roof she was perched on, as he entered the Thieves Guild. Without her customary hat, the sun illuminated each strand of hair, creating an auburn glow around her face. "My favorite assassin! You've returned to us!"

He couldn't help but return the smile and climb up to meet her. The two sat on top of the roof near the edge that overlooked the lagoon, drinking in the sun and enjoying each other's company. Even though most of the time they spent together, they were busy screwing like bunnies, there was a deep friendship the two shared. Ezio often wondered if one day this mutual comfort would develop into something more. Despite not being a noble, Rosa would make an interesting wife. Once he had considered the same about Margherita, but that ship sailed long ago.

"So, what brings you back – besides your overwhelming desire to see me?"

"I have an assassination I must complete."

"Ah, yes, as always." The thief reclined onto her back, crossing her arms behind her head as a cushion. "I didn't think you'd show your face around here for a while," she commented nonchalantly, "Even though Leonardo was still in trouble."

Ezio glanced down at her, before reclining as well. "I knew you'd tell me if Leonardo was truly in danger. It was too tense… I think those two needed a chance to breathe… I seem to cause a lot of dissent."

"You and Margherita seem to cause a lot of dissent, together. It's a joint effort."

Ezio tried to grin in reply, but the effort came to none. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, the very edge of it lost beyond the sea and he couldn't help but think of another lifetime ago when he had sat on a rooftop with another girl, watching the setting sun. "Did they… go through with it?"

"They were married just a day after you left Venezia," she recounted. Giving a brief pause, then a weary sigh, she added, "Not like it did any good, though."

"What do you mean?" Ezio sat straight up and gazed down at Rosa from his new height.

The thief shrugged and also sat up, "The rumors are as frequent as ever. Just last week Antonio had to have one of our thieves rough up a bishop's son to stop them from pursuing an investigation into Leonardo."

Ezio had always had the bad habit of biting his lip when he was especially thoughtful. When he was just mildly thoughtful, he'd cross his arms. At that moment, he was doing both as he stared out at the shifting tides.

* * *

Grabbing the dagger from the folds of her dress, Margherita stalked to the door, wary to keep her footsteps silent. Nightmares plagued her and kept her awake at night, worried that the creatures of her unconscious would take tangible form and come to carry her away. Just that night, she's dreamt of a mob arriving and trapping Leonardo, only to hang him from the beams of the workshop. The smell of death still lingered in her nose as she opened the door.

And then, the scent of death was intensified.

Ezio.

The man carried with him the souls of all those he'd taken and their rotting carcasses followed him in his heart. Blood and severed flesh, that was what his robes smelled like, and there he was standing in front of her.

She didn't close the door, didn't lock him out, but she didn't speak either. It was a friendly face, even if his presence hurt her… she still loved him and it was nice to see him again.

Instead, she stepped aside and let him in, putting her dagger away.

"Codex page?" she asked in an even tone.

"No," he responded equally monotonously. "I've come to speak to you two about an urgent matter."

Instantly she was on her guard, "What? Our lives aren't at risk are they? What have you heard?" Margherita couldn't bear the thought of her mentor – husband, she corrected, husband – in danger. Which had made these last few months unbearable.

"I've heard that it's been difficult for you two," Ezio explained.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed past him and moved into the kitchen. The assassin followed her with silent footfalls. As she reached up to the top shelf for a bottle of mead, she replied, "Leonardo has had a drop in commissions," she explained as she poured herself a large glass. Her hands were shaking. "No one flies my hot air balloon anymore. None of the vendors will sell to us – we have to go far away to be able to buy anything. Our neighbors ignore us… people paint things on the outer walls of our workshop – surely you didn't miss the graffiti outside."

He cringed and Margherita swallowed the mead in one gulp and continued, "The guards can't prove anything, really. Probably because we got married. But they're like vultures, watching us, watching him. If he even looks at another man for more than a few seconds, they'll sweep down and take him away." She tried to pour another glass of mead, but she was trembling too much. Finally he couldn't bear it anymore and crossed the room.

Placing both his hands over hers, he halted her movements. She sagged forward and broke down. Sobbing, she released the bottle and cup, allowing Ezio to set them down on the table. She drooped against him and buried her head into his chest. The armor pressed harshly against her forehead but she was too far gone to care.

"I can't deal with this anymore, Ezio," she wept, "I thought getting married would solve everything, but it didn't! I worry constantly! I just keep waiting for the mob to come get us and hang us, and I'm so, so, sc-cared."

As he pulled away from her to get a better view of her face, he promised, "Now that I'm here, nothing will happen to you, Margherita. Or Leonardo. Nothing will happen."

Her eyelashes were clumped together by the moisture of her tears, and some snot was dripping from her nose, but she smiled up at him. "I know that," she said, "I know that. I'm so glad you're back." Pushing her face back into his chest, she whispered, "You always make me feel safe."

"I'm taking you two away from here."

* * *

They set out the next day. Having packed light and asked Rosa and Antonio to keep an eye on the workshop, they escaped the city for what they were calling their "mental health vacation". Leonardo had jumped at the opportunity to leave. And so, they arrived at the Auditore Villa without two weeks.

"How is it," Margherita asked, as Monteriggioni came into sight, "that it took us nearly a year to get from Firenze to Venice but two weeks to get from Venice to here?"

Laughing for the first time in a long time, Leonardo answered, "Well, I suppose the wagon slowed us down, and we missed our first boat…"

Huffing, she answered, "Well, it's just ridiculous."

Suddenly, the horse beneath her reared, and she tightened her grip around Ezio. Leonardo had his own horse because he wasn't afraid of them and could actually ride it. Margherita had spotted their transportation and said, "Nope. No way. I'd rather walk." So, they'd stuck her behind Ezio. It was… interesting. This entire trip had been like that first one… the three of them under the open sky, moving and moving and talking and laughing. It made her remember why she loved her boys.

Ha, her boys. Yes, these same boys that included the man who was like a father to her and brother but was her husband, and the man who thought of her like a sister but was the man she loved. Irony, irony, irony.

* * *

Ezio stood back to watch as his family sized up his friends. Everyone he loved was under the same roof. His mother was upstairs, his uncle and sister in the downstairs room. His uncle flicked his gaze between the two, suspicious as always. Claudia was even more judgmental, focusing mainly on how low Margherita's bodice was. Then, her eyes trailed down to the fingerless glove Margherita never removed (even when they had sex) and she quirked an eyebrow, obviously finding this to be odd. Finally, her eyes found Margherita's face and she stared long and hard.

"I know you," Claudia accused, taking a step closer to the older girl. "What's your name?"

"My name's Margherita da Vinci."

Ezio startled, as this was his first time hearing her called that. Leonardo… she was Leonardo's, even if he had had her time and time again.

"Hm…" Claudia circled her, "No, I know no one by that name."

"We…" Margherita trailed off for a moment as Claudia finished her circling and stopped right in front of the blonde. "We met about ten years ago."

Claudia placed a finger against her lips, "Hm… I was living in Firenze ten years ago." Suddenly, she squinted and stuck her nose up against Margherita's for a moment before pulling back and squeaking, "Oh! I know you! You're the girl who…" Blushing in embarrassment, she stopped short and forced a smile onto her face, "Wow, you're a lot prettier than I remember."

Well, it wasn't exactly the most proper thing to say… but really, what do you say to the girl you saw get raped a decade ago? "Had any luck dealing with that"? Yeah, etiquette classes don't prepare you for everything.

"Thank you," Margherita inclined her head.

"You're the girl who tried to save my brother and nephews, yes?" Mario stepped forward, hands on hips.

Before Ezio could interrupt, she answered, "I tried. I failed."

"Then you and your husband are welcomed here," he nodded and gestured to Ezio, "We must discuss repairs to the villa, nephew."

Nodding to the group, Ezio followed his uncle into the office, but not before glancing back at Margherita and smiling encouragingly.

Claudia noted the act, but chose not to comment on it as she showed the two to their room. It wasn't until Leonardo left to go sketch the landscape (as he had taken to doing to calm his thoughts) that Claudia nonchalantly asked Margherita, "You and Ezio aren't doing anything, are you?"

"Doing anything?" Margherita glanced up from her task of laying out the dresses she had collected over the years.

"Fucking," she answered shortly.

Margherita's hands slipped, but her voice was even as she replied, "Why would you ask something like that?"

"I saw the way he looked at you. My brother looks at girls like that only after he's had them."

"We had a thing, once," Margherita admitted, getting back to work.

"But it's over?"

"Yes."

"You look at him like you love him."

"I do."

"Does he love you?"

"Nope."

And the conversation should have died there. But it didn't. Instead, Claudia threw out, "Pity, you'd have made a good sister-in-law," just before she left the room.

Margherita continued unpacking her clothes and tidying up the room, forcing herself not to think about the fact that she had once dreamed about marrying the assassin and living in the Villa… now, she was in fact married – to a sodomite and filled with unrequited love. Fantastic.

* * *

"What are you doing up there?" Ezio asked, taking the steps up to the Villa two at a time.

"Looking at the town… the repairs have really shaped things up," Margherita answered, pushing herself off the ledge she had been leaning on, and she walked over to stand near the assassin.

"Yes, one day this place will be returned to its former glory…" he trailed off and turned his attention solely to her.

Squirming under his gaze, she felt naked and exposed and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he was staring at her… and if seemed he didn't know either. It wasn't until she nodded and walked right past him, descending the stairs to go into the town, that he blinked and realized she had moved. Honestly, he had been busy rememorizing her freckles and the patterns they made across her face. It had been so long that he'd seen her, up close and not crying.

It seemed the two had come to the unspoken agreement to simply not talk about what had happened. It was as though they had gone back to right before he was poisoned and made foolish declarations of love, and wiped clean everything that had happened thereafter. And that was fine with him – he didn't want to have to deal with it.

"She's quite pretty," a voice spoke behind him.

"She is," he agreed, turning to face his sister.

Crossing her arms, and approaching the man, she said, "I heard you two had a fling. But the way you look at her makes me think you would like to start that up again, eh?"

Ezio turned to move closer to the ledge, sneaking one last sight of the bobbing blonde head as it disappeared behind a building. "I doesn't matter what I want," he explained, "she has read too much into it already." He turned back to his sister and gave an arrogant smirk, "She thought I loved her once. Was convinced, actually, that I loved her." Suddenly, his smirk dropped into a small frown, "She loves me…"

"And you love her."

The assassin was startled for a moment, "No, I don't."

"Fine, but you will, one day. I figure this whole "Leonardo's wife" thing is a scam, but really, one day they're going to get that annulled and then she'll get over you and be snatched up by the next handsome thing that walks her way. So don't wait too long to figure it out, okay?" And then she turned around and flounced back to the Villa. She had the cocky, Auditore walk down to a science.

"You should not make assumptions, little sister!" he called after her, but it was too late, the idea was already stuck in his head.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I have no excuse. None. Except Homecoming. But that's it. Other than that, homework, classes, social life… damn, no one ever tells you how difficult college is. Until you're there. And require vast amounts of chai tea to keep yourself awake. Basically.**

**I've noticed something rather ironic about my style… the lemon scene was totally devoid of any description that wasn't technical. But whenever there's something even remotely passionate, I'm terribly verbose and can't stop the flowery language to save my life. I think, in that lemon chapter, it was more sexually charged during the hot air balloon scene than the actual lemon. This chapter is almost the same way. For any of you who know A Streetcar Named Desire, I was heavily inspired by it for the closing scene.**

**I'm also really nervous about the direction this chapter takes… I've never been able to envision Ezio falling in love (so of course, I write a romance involving him) but I've always known this is the way I want it to go… it's just the transition that's giving me some trouble. So, if you can tell me how ya'll feel regarding this new development and whether I'm portraying Ezio accurately, that would be wonderful.**

**Last thing! Today is not Sunday. It's Wednesday. I don't know if I'll manage to whip something up by Sunday… Soooo, consider this a late update and an early update all wrapped it one. And maybe I'll be back next Sunday.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

… it wasn't that Ezio had an epiphany, so much as the idea slid into his skull and seeped into his brain and infected his very blood. Perhaps it would be best for him to take off and be bled by one of the doctors in the town so that there would be some relief. Why hadn't he ever considered this? Why was it that as she sat next to Leonardo, chatting happily with her cheeks flushed pink in the afternoon sun, that he couldn't take his eyes off of her? He wasn't staring, he decided. He was observing. He was catching the details he'd ignored prior.

Ezio sat on the Villa's roof, focusing on the little interaction down below. Margherita was sitting beside Leonardo, scribbling in one of her journals and the artist was busy sketching Margherita. Small bits of conversation passed between the two, but they were too busy with their work to hold any proper communication.

"What are you doing, brother?" Claudia's head poked up from the edge of the roof. Even though their father hadn't taught her how to scale walls, climb towers and soar in the skies, she still had the Auditore blood and bravery, and heights were second-nature to her. As Ezio peered over the ledge, he noted that she was standing on the windowsill of her bedchamber.

"I am enjoying the view," he responded evenly.

"Ah, yes, the view…" Claudia only smirked, and swung back into her room.

Ezio followed, "What does that mean?"

Leaving through the door just a second after the assassin landed feet-first on her bedchamber floor, she spoke over her shoulder, "I wonder if mother's wedding gown will fit Margherita…"

And the noble man was left with his musings once again.

* * *

Not two days later his family and their guests left the Villa to enjoy some of the surrounding countryside. Even his mother was led by his sister out into the sunlight. It would be good for her, to get a little sun on her face, his sister had argued. And though she no longer spoke aloud, there was a slight incline in his mother's head that convinced the group that she was willing.

Ezio watched them leave, resigned. He had told them he needed to get some training in, and that they should go on without him. Really, he just wanted to be alone. Since they had arrived not a week and a half earlier, he couldn't get away from them. They were his family, his friends, his everything but spending more than a few hours with them at any given moment was bound to cause issues. And dealing with Margherita was getting worse and worse.

There was a scent that lingered in the air whenever she left the room… he had noticed the way she often lathered herself in perfumes and had radical ideas about hygiene that didn't honestly make sense to him. When they would have sex, it would annoy him so much! It was one thing to catch a wiff of it as she passed, it was another thing entirely when his nose was buried in the crook of her neck, exactly where the highest concentration of it was… Often, he would force himself to not reel back from the sheer potency of the perfume. But now that lavender haunted his senses. He couldn't escape it.

Even now, when Margherita was off frolicking in fields, it seeped into his skin.

Ezio was just passing the married couples room, when he spotted the small miniature Leonardo had done of her that one day, propped up against the wall. It had long since dried, Ezio realized as he entered the room and slid a finger along her jaw line. It was a perfect replica, the artist had combined everything that made that girl unique – her dabbled skin… her bright blue eyes, lowered as she gazed down at her own scribblings… that one piece of hair that never stayed in her braids or behind her ear… the slope of her shoulders as she bent forward.

There was a brief moment when he wondered whether it would smell like her as well. He quickly dashed the thought, berated himself for being so sappy, and then left the room.

Only to return. And pick up the miniature. And put it in his breast pocket. And leave the room.

* * *

Without turning around, Margherita asked, "What do you want, Ezio?"

The assassin slid fully into the room and slithered up next to her, no longer worrying whether his footsteps made noise. Sometimes he thought that girl had ultra sensitive hearing.

Margherita was bent over one of the architect's drawings, observing the potentially new brothel. "Ah, yes," she said as his shadow passed over the paper. "We definitely need one of these. Goodness only knows what you would do without it."

There was a brief silence when neither was willing to go forward with the discussion, both realizing that this was the first time that incident had been brought up. Finally, Ezio sniped, "Well, there are other methods for stress relief that are closer on hand."

Her body jolted as her head snapped up to glare at him. "Don't insinuate those kinds of things, Ezio. We both remember what happened last time."

"We recovered, though, don't you think?"

Pushing away from the table, she strode to the door, apparently intending on returning to her room. "Yes, Ezio," she said over her shoulder just as she reached the threshold and paused to continue speaking, "After a long while our friendship has finally managed to repair itself. I don't intend to make the same mistake twice."

The assassin leaned his lower back against the table and crossed his arms, smirking, "You act as though you don't love me…" Cocking his head to the side, his smirk widened, "I'm hurt."

He wasn't expecting the glare she gave him in return.

"I don't," she replied shortly, twirling around and stalking out.

Ezio didn't have time respond; instead he took a quick step forward, before halting his body. She… didn't love him.

Normally, he'd have been relieved… he'd have been glad that she had gotten over her little fancy and was now free for no-strings-attached sex once again. But… it seemed she no longer wished to partake in such activities and even if she had, would it be the same now that her love had dwindled? Ezio had never been loved before… never been in love. Lust, maybe – lots of lust. But making love was something else entirely.

And it seemed that that was exactly what they had been doing, now that he realized it. If she had loved him, then their intercourse was bred out of love, not lust. Every caress, every kiss, every breathy promise was the result of something far more pure than carnal desire. Why hadn't he realized it before? Why hadn't he seen what was in front of him, willing to be grasped as she metaphorically kneeled before him? Why hadn't he counted the freckles on her neck and shoulders and forearms and thighs and ankles when he had had the chance?

And why did he suddenly want that back?

His hand instinctively found the miniature he still kept right above his heart, in his shirt pocket.

* * *

Margherita was just passing by the opened door when she happened to peek into the room. Just as always, Maria Auditore was bent over the side of her bed, praying for the souls of her lost husband and children. The widow caught in everlasting grief. Once Margherita had gotten her head screwed on correctly, she often regretted her instinctive ill-wishing on the woman, wishing that Maria had been the one raped and that she, herself, had been spared. Often, she'd hoped that because she'd prevented the guards from going any further that Maria might have been better able to move on.

Apparently not.

Placing one hand on the threshold, Margherita continued to peer into the room… until she noticed the way Maria's lips moved slowly and deliberately. No sound came forth, but she was repeating something… silently reciting a prayer, it seemed.

Reading lips had never been a strong suit of Margherita's but she took a step forward into the room anyways to see if she couldn't make out the way her lips bent and twisted into words. And Margherita recognized those words.

Even though church was a major part of the culture here, and she attended mass at the local church alongside Leonardo every Sunday, she typically didn't dwell on religion in her life. Neither did Leonardo, quite honestly. Everyone thought he was a genius and semi-holy in his talents, but he didn't attribute his success to God, nor did Margherita. Her family had never placed much of a value on church-going, even if they were Roman Catholic. But Margherita knew the Lord's Prayer back and forth in English and had heard it a million times in Italian.

Finally, fully entering the room, she knelt next to Maria silently.

"Padre nostro" she began, falling into the tempo Maria had set with her mute repetitions, "che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome; venga il tuo regno, sia fatta la tua volontà, come in cielo così in terra. Dacci oggi il nostro pane quotidiano, rimetti a noi i nostri debiti, come noi li rimettiamo ai nostri debitori e non ci indurre in tentazione, ma liberaci dal male. Amen."

For added measure, mostly because she thought they deserved it, Margherita breathed, "Requiescat in pace."

To whom she wished peace, she didn't rightly know. Maybe everyone, maybe anyone, maybe for all the people she had lost or had yet to lose. For her family back home, for her family here, for her love, for her life, for everything that had ever gone wrong and for everything that had ever gone right. For her husband, for her ex-lover, for her sole female friend, for…

She ran out of people to bless just as Ezio walked through the door. Maria didn't even lift her gaze from the folded hands in front of her, but Margherita gave a full-out jump. Damn, that assassin could be stealthy when he was on a mission. This mission, it seemed, was to place a hand full of feathers into a small box that was resting on the mantle in Maria's room.

Ezio didn't even notice her until after he had closed the lid, whispered a soft, inaudible prayer, and then turned back around. An eyebrow shot up at the sight of his mother and former conquest kneeling side by side, apparently in prayer. Margherita quickly stood – maybe he thought she, a woman with no morals, had no right to kneel in prayer with his mother.

Instead, he reached out a hand for her to grasp, and escorted her from the room silently.

"Sorry," she tried to begin just as they were out of earshot.

"For what, exactly?"

"For disturbing her…" Margherita pulled her hand out of his and lifted her skirt to descend the stairs.

"Even though she doesn't speak, I know she appreciates the company," Ezio explained. "I don't… I have not believed in a God since I witnessed my brothers and father hanged. I do not think I could bring myself to sitting and praying for their souls to a God who did nothing to stop their deaths. Claudia is the same way. My mother, thankfully, will see that they reach eternal paradise in the bosom of our Lord, even if we will not." He paused, "I wasn't aware you were at all religious. I had thought Sister Teodora was one of a kind."

"Who is Sister Teodora?" Margherita honestly couldn't remember.

"A nun who runs a brothel," was the concise reply.

"Ah, no, I am not truly religious…" Margherita finally reached the ground floor and turned to face the assassin who had followed her pace. "I attend mass when Leonardo does, which is nearly every week, even if he has often spoken of atheistic beliefs on his part… Mostly, I just know what it's like to not want to be alone in your grief. When, I mean, after – well, it helped me to paint, to relieve some of my sadness. Leonardo would stand over my shoulder, probably cringing because I'm a terrible artist, and I probably wasted tons of canvas, but he was always there and I was able to work it out…"

Pushing some of his hair back nonchalantly, Ezio commented, "He makes a wonderful husband, doesn't he?"

Wow, talk about awkward, Margherita mentally cringed. Discussing your gay husband with your passionate (and probably horny) former lover… that was just fantastic. Instead of giving a satisfying answer, she just nodded and asked, "What did you put in that box?"

It was Ezio's turn to flinch. Sore spot, apparently, Margherita realized just a little too late. He was kind enough to answer anyways, "Petruccio asked me to collect some white feathers for him a few days before they were taken to the prison. When we left Firenze, my mother grabbed just that box, filled with those feathers. I have no idea why, and Petruccio told me it was a secret." Giving a tense smile, Ezio commented, "That kid was such a softy."

The hand Margherita reached out to place on his shoulder was intercepted by the assassin and instead pressed against his cheek as he leaned against her warmth.

She was momentarily startled by this sudden intimacy, but she recovered quickly and she could feel her expression soften as she asked, "So you still collect them in his memory?"

Ezio only nodded, cheek still pressed into her hand.

Briefly, she lowered her gaze. She had never known the youngest Auditore and even when she and Ezio had been on friendly terms, the assassin never spoke much about his deceased family. Even his sister and mother were topics he hardly ventured toward, unless he had just come from visiting them and had an amusing anecdote to share with whoever would listen.

"You miss them," she stated. There was no need to question.

"With every single breath I breathe."

"You must be happy then, to be here with your mother and sister?"

Ezio slid a hand over her own, up on his face. "I am happy that we are on civil terms at least… I mean, even if you don't love me anymore."

She didn't miss the flicker of… resentment? disappointment? resignation? that shot across his face and furrowed his eyebrows and quirked his lips downwards. Surely, she thought dismally, he wasn't hung up on the fact that she had said something like that out of spite, right?

"I don't love you as I would a lover, Ezio," she explained, and even though her hand had since become clammy, she made no move to retract it from between his warm flesh and fingers. "But you are a dear friend. I am sorry if my temporary infatuation hurt our friendship… I was," she paused, "terribly immature regarding the whole thing."

And there it was – the words she had practiced for ages, the words that had sprung onto her lips the moment he walked out of that workshop and the hole in her heart doubled in hollowness. It was the moment she realized she had crossed a line and had been the catalyst for the self-fulfilling prophecy… the one where she stupidly chose love over friendship and lost him entirely.

"That doesn't really matter anymore, now does it?" he asked, bending over her slightly. There was a brief moment in which she wondered if he would kiss her… but he didn't. Instead, he continued, almost breathlessly, "We've moved past it and I'm just glad to have you back in my life."

Blushing and cursing her fair skin for its transparency, she began to tug her hand away, even though he refused to release it. With a huff she exclaimed, "You're acting as though we have known each other for our entire lives and our little falling out was nearly the end of the world."

"In some ways I feel like I've known you my whole life," he said. "At least, this life. Sometimes I think of my younger self as the Ezio of before…all that tragedy and who I am now as two separate people. The old one was stupid, and mercurial and so terribly immature. This one is reckless, but not careless, and overwrought with devotion to a single cause. You're part of that life. You're part of my family. I thought I had lost that… It's good to know I didn't."

Finally, Margherita pulled away. "I'm probably going to go into town…" She trailed off, not even noticing that she was kind of asking for his permission. Why? She had no idea.

"Be careful," advised Ezio, as he too straightened up and took a step backwards. "It will probably rain soon; the sky was growing darker when I returned from training."

Margherita nodded her understanding and exited via the main door anyway. The room, though spacious and bright, had become suddenly so cramped and gloomy. And, she realized, as she perused the Villa's garden, Ezio didn't look at her the same way he used to. Didn't have that same predatory glare that sent shivers down her spine, all the way down to her nether regions. It seemed she had ruined the one thing she had with him that wasn't familial love.

But, she realized that what he had said was true – they were part of a family. Not blood relations, but a group of misfits… an assassin, an artist, and a little girl… all just trying to find their path in life.

* * *

It did rain, but not until later. The sky had darkened with dusk and only then did the skies open up, punctuated with the crackling thunder and bright flashes of lightening. Margherita had wondered up and down the Villa's garden, stroking at her long braid that had been swung over her shoulder for purely that occasion, and thinking thoughts she had told herself she shouldn't dwell on.

Later, just as the imprint of her feet into the soft dirt was masked by the night, she retreated back into the Villa and went directly for her room. Leonardo was already asleep, turned onto his side and snoring peacefully. That man could sleep through anything, Margherita had realized long ago… just not Ezio having his manhood smashed by a knee to the groin, apparently. She thanked her luck as she changed into a linen nightgown, removed the decorations from her hair and reclined back onto her side of the bed.

Amid the quite exhalations of her mentor and the pitter-pattering of rain against the roof, she pondered.

God, she loved him. Liar, liar, yes she was.

But better he think he hadn't hurt her feelings and then maybe she could speed this whole reconcilement up a bit.

Ezio probably didn't believe it though, because he was just intuitive like that. He knew she loved him still and he was trying not to prolong her pain. The sentiment was appreciated she supposed, but really only managed to humiliate her further. What girl wants to have the man she loves in the awkward position of having to say, "yeah, well, you're pretty I guess, but I just can't return your feelings like that…"? No girl, that's who. It would be infinitely better for him to be under the impression that it was a mild infatuation and she's since screwed her head on correctly.

Deciding that tomorrow she would flirt mercilessly, as was her specialty, she drifted off into sleep.

Not two steps from her own personal dreamland was she, that a bright flash of lightening, harmoniously occupied by a sharp clap of thunder, startled her into a sleeping position.

"Leonardo, Leonardo," she whispered harshly, digging her fingers into his side. Margherita didn't want to be alone right now and even though he was sleeping beside her, that didn't really count as his presence.

The artist didn't budge.

Cursing, she flopped back down and prepared to stick her head under the bed covering so as block out the storm outside. She had just lifted the coverlet when another round of lights and claps assaulted her.

"Leonardo!" she finally exclaimed. Not such luck.

Finally, she stumbled up out of the bed and fled to the hallway. She couldn't sleep like this and maybe some scribbling in one of her books would ease her worry.

The way down to main chamber meant passing Ezio's bedchamber door… which was slightly ajar. God, she loved him. So, she peeked into the dark room, eyes searching for a figure on the bed… no such luck, once again.

Margherita was about to simply depart when the shadows near the windows moved ever so slightly. The assassin was standing at his window, observing the raging storm. His pose was like that of Michelangelo's David, twisted spine, relaxed and cocky. The kind of man who can stand on top of the tallest tower in all of Italia, thrust his arms out, and scream, "I dare you" to the world, all without ever moving.

There was no denying it now… she wanted him. Had always wanted him, probably, since the second he'd leaned against a counter and spoken to the little servant lady in a language she hadn't been able to understand at that point.

Maybe we all go through different lives, she pondered, we transition through each phase, wearing the same face and body and soul, but something is always different. And maybe it was always meant that we would someday find each other. Not in our first life, not in our second, or third, or fourth, or fifth. Maybe this is our hundredth reincarnation and we've only just found each other.

Watching as he bent to close the shutters, she realized he still enjoyed sleeping naked. It wasn't until he turned around that he noticed her. She started at his toes, working her way up. Shins, thighs, manhood, pelvis, abs, pectorals, collarbone, shoulders, neck, jaw, chin, mouth nose, eyes that stared right back at her.

And God, she wanted him.

With deliberateness she didn't know she possessed, she stepped forward into the room. There was a softness to her footfalls that made them both realize the storm had silenced for a moment… there was no thunder or flashes of lightening. It seemed what had driven her from her marriage bed and into the chamber of the white devil had left, knowing that it had served its purpose.

She knew her nightgown gave her very little coverage. Linen allowed air to pass freely and caressed her skin. Her nipples hardened against the icy fabric, and her whole body was ultra sensitive. Nerves in her fingers, up to her shoulders, back down to her toes were all lit with sensation. And despite her exposed and vulnerable body, his eyes stayed trained onto her face. In fact, they shined. Ezio's eyes were pools of glowing amber, situated beneath heavy brows, peeking out from the darkness.

No words were spoken as she crossed the room. Not two feet from him, she raised a hand and pressed it against his cheek in an exact replica of earlier that day. Before he had a chance to move, she slid her palm down his neck, down his shoulder, bicep, forearm, wrist, to entwine in his hand. His heat slid up her own arm, weaving into her heart. His nakedness was natural, his unbound locks were natural, his open expression was natural.

God, she wanted him.

Ezio allowed himself to be guided over to his ornate bed. Margherita gently positioned him at the edge of the bed, sitting.

It was an interesting perspective, looking down at the famed assassin. She settled herself between his knees, lacing her fingers into his unbound hair, tangling it further just as his hands came to rest on her hips. He made no move to give himself the advantage, instead he craned his neck so that their eyes were locked.

_Beautiful._

_Sensual._

_Familiar._

They were caught in the eternal silence amid the muted storm and neither made any move to disturb it. Maybe this was what they had wanted all along? Maybe every sharp retort, flirtation, and snarky comment had lead them to this exact moment? Or maybe they had been walking the same path all along and they just hadn't realized it until this very moment. Thoughts were dissipated, ideas mangled, every consciousness flew away on the wings of the hawk, off to stalk new prey.

Finally, Ezio broke the spell by wrapping his arms around the back of her upper thighs, pushing his face into her abdomen. In response, she took the hands that had been tangled in his hair, and encircled his head with her arms. Slowly, their breathing synchronized. Maybe even their heart beats pounded together.

Suddenly, her grip on him tightened as his own arms flexed and he stood up, bringing her with him. There was a moment in which she was lifted off her feet, suspended above Ezio, but still crushed against him.

No sound came from her lips, not a startled yelp, a disgruntled shout. She wasn't surprised. They were one person. They knew each other to the point of identical passions and thoughts, and desires.

Ezio twisted around, dropping Margherita back onto the bed, with no need for gentleness. A moment passed in which he stood over her, finally observing something other than her face. When she was plopped on the bed, her nightgown shifted up towards her upper thighs, which opened on reflex and her sleeve dripped off of one shoulder. She stared up at him with wide eyes, desiring safety no longer, just him. Him, him, him.

And God, she wanted him.

He was a predator as he bent and crawled onto the bed as well, directly over her. As he hovered above her, a smirk lit across his face and she would have missed it save for the flash of white in the otherwise dark room.

A moment before their lips touched the loudest crack of the storm sounded and the thunder vibrated through the room.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Nothing really much to say except that you people are terribly, terribly lucky. And I'm royally screwed because I blew off a paper or two to get this written.**

**It's short though, sorry about that. But it needed to end there. It just did. And I need to whip up a fifteen page paper by Tuesday. Kill me. Please. Reach through the internet and end my miserably stressed life. Just kidding – kinda.**

**Drama, drama, drama. How I love thee, hate thee, write thee into just about every chapter of this wretched story.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

It was like being home again, Margherita decided, as the first bit of consciousness touched her mind. His musky smell, the soft skin that was smooth under her cheek with a layer of tight muscles. She wasn't cold, she wasn't lonely… not like she was when she slept beside Leonardo. Her mentor didn't hold her like Ezio did, didn't caress her face until she fell asleep like Ezio did, didn't hum a tune she had never heard before but wanted to memorize. And he certainly didn't kiss her fingers, before capturing her hand fully and pressing it over his heart. _Feel it beating? _he had asked the night before. _It's just for you, _he promised, _just for you._

Maybe she even believed him. Maybe she didn't. But it didn't matter because she had responded, _I feel it, I feel it. Just for me._

Rolling over, she pulled herself from Ezio's grasp and sat up. Without exposing her body to the morning air, she remained on the bed, covered in the blanket, but slid her eyes around the room searching for where the assassin might have thrown her nightgown. Ah, yes, she finally found it and quickly darted out to snatch it up and throw it back over her head.

Almost returning to under the covers, she stopped to observe the unguarded killer. Ezio was sprawled on his side of the bed and part of hers – which hadn't really mattered because she had practically slept on top of him. His hair was matted up, tangled beyond all recognition of his usual luscious locks and his mouth was wide open, a bit of drool forming in the corner. And she honestly couldn't think of any other word to describe him except for, "beautiful".

Especially in this lighting. Despite the morning sun peaking through his window and illuminating every aspect of his body, he still wasn't disturbed by it. It seemed that after the violent storm last night, the skies had finally settled down, rested themselves and the sun was back at full force to light up the world and bring happiness to young lovers everywhere.

Instead of reclining, Margherita simply sat down on the bed, pulling her feet beneath herself to keep them warm. Reaching out, she was two inches from stroking his face – specifically, his small beard that had been developing over the week… unfortunately – when something caught her eye. There was a moment when she considered just continuing, maybe start a second (or was it third?) round… but really, her OCD was tugging at her brain.

Scolding the assassin mentally, she stood back up – hissing as the cold hit her heels – and crossed the room to pick up the clothes he had simply stripped out of and abandoned on the floor the following night. If there was one thing she always bothered her boys about, it was folding clothes. There was no magic iron here in this backwards era and wrinkles annoyed her to no end. She spent most of her time cleaning up after them, and it appeared that Ezio still hadn't learned.

Folding his breeches, she set them on the bed and then moved on to the shirt. The second she picked it up, she realized there was added weight to it. Maybe he had left a throwing knife in there? Even if they were his "civilian" clothing (the assassin robes hadn't made an appearance since they had arrived), she wouldn't put it past him to leave some weapon or another on his person at all times.

Margherita reached her hand into his shirt pocket, cautiously, hoping she wouldn't lose a finger.

Nope. Not a weapon, she realized as she pulled a bit of stretched canvas from the pocket.

The back side was revealed to her first, and she recognized Leonardo's signature… Hm, she didn't know Ezio had requested a painting from the famed artist.

Then she flipped it over.

And her breath caught in the very pits of her gut.

No, no, no. That can't be possible. He…

"Ezio," she whispered, hoping she wouldn't have to go any louder because she didn't think she had the breath to add volume.

He didn't move.

"Ezio," she spoke in a normal voice.

Still no movement.

"Ezio!" Suddenly her voice shot up two octaves and several notches in volume.

His response was instantaneous. Giving one giant flinch, he was on his feet, hands reaching for weapons that weren't there. When he realized he was naked and unarmed, his gaze shot to Margherita and he was at her side in an instant, gripping her upper arms, looking her up and down as he checked for injuries. It seemed he didn't recognize what she was holding in her hands.

"What? Are you alright? What's going on?"

When she didn't speak, just continued to stare up at him blankly and a little angrily, he gave her a little shake. "What's wrong, Margherita?" he asked.

Without making a sound, she raised the miniature of herself up for him to see. His expression crumbled into relief for a moment as he realized she wasn't in danger, before tensing at having been caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. "Oh," he said. "I know I shouldn't have taken it, and that Leonardo has been looking for it, but –"

"Then why did you take it?" she demanded, still unmoving.

He thought for a moment, "I wanted it."

"Yes, and you take what you want, don't you?" she grunted, and finally pushed past him to finish folding the shirt she had abandoned on the floor, tossing the miniature onto the bed with a small bounce.

"Are you angry?" he asked, following her movements with his eyes.

"I'm… confused. Mostly." She almost left it there. But then she couldn't. Scrunching the shirt in her shaking hands she twisted around and let loose, throwing the bundled garment at Ezio. He didn't even bother to try to catch it, letting it bounce off his chest and fall to the floor. "No, actually, I _am_ angry. I am angry because you don't get to be all sentimental now. You just don't. Where were you months ago when I was sad and needing a sensitive man? Where were you when I needed someone to hold me – no, when I needed _you _to hold me? You broke my heart! You don't get to suddenly steal my portrait and keep it in your shirt pocket! That's something lovers do!"

"What do you think we did last night?" he responded with equal venom. As she had been speaking, his face had grown darker with each word.

"We fucked."

"No we didn't," he explained, "That wasn't fucking. That wasn't sex."

"Ezio, you're a big boy, do I honestly have to explain how babies are made?"

"You don't understand."

"Fine, I'll humor you, if it wasn't fucking and if it wasn't sex then what the hell was it?"

This time he hesitated for half a minute, avoiding the question entirely as he sighed and bent to pick up the shirt she thrown at him. He managed to fold it in complete silence and set it on the bed alongside the breeches and the portrait. Margherita didn't bother to interrupt him, nor did she repeat her question.

Finally, he turned back around and crossed his arms. "We," he began, "made love."

She blinked. And blinked again. And then she laughed. Loudly. "That was the lamest thing I've ever heard," she said around her laughs before collapsing to floor, bending over and shaking with each hoot. Ezio didn't even bother to respond, standing awkwardly watching her.

Eventually sound stopped coming from her mouth even though her shaking shoulders continued. And Ezio grew annoyed.

"Fine, I get it. That was a stupid thing to say, but it's true." She still didn't look up or acknowledge his words so he bent down, grasping her shoulders to force her to look up, saying, "Listen, it wasn't that funny. You need to –"

And he stopped.

She was crying. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, her face was red, her eyes already swollen. Her shoulders had been shaking with sobs, not laughter, it seemed.

"Love?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "You're going to speak to me about love? Now? Ezio, you're too late. You're too late and you know it. I'm a married woman, I'm unavailable now, and I don't entirely trust you anymore – not with my heart. There is no way for us to be together like that. And now you decide to use that word. You just want what you can't have. And you can't have me anymore."

Margherita pulled herself from his grip and stumbled to the door. Pausing for just a moment to wipe her face, she left.

* * *

Ezio gave her a moment to calm down. He gave himself a moment get dressed. And then he went looking for her. He found Leonardo instead.

"What did you do?" the artist accused more than asked.

"I didn't do anything," Ezio held his hands up to protect himself. "What did she tell you?"

"She didn't tell me anything and she didn't have to. You seduced her again and have managed to break heart once more!"

Pushing past Leonardo, Ezio began taking the stairs two at a time. Leonardo was able to keep up and the assassin figured he owed the artist an explanation. "I told her we made love last night. That was it."

"You idiot." Leonardo, with viciousness no one ever realized he possessed, grabbed Ezio's arm and twisted him so that they were face to face, effectively halting their steps. The assassin allowed himself to be manhandled, mostly from shock that the pacifist would resort to violence. "Of all the things you could have done, you had to do that!"

Ripping himself from the artists grip, Ezio said, "I don't even understand why that's such a bad thing!"

"You rejected her at probably her most vulnerable moment. And now you've changed your mind. Can't you see how that must make her feel?" Leonardo ended his explanation much more calmly than he had started the whole argument.

Ezio mimicked this slow descent to serenity, "She doesn't love me anymore, so I don't know why that would matter."

"Is that what she told you?"

"Yes."

Leonardo slowly sat down on the edge of the top stair. Ezio followed and watched as the shorter man dragged a hand down his face. "What a mess she's made…" he mused. Suddenly, he glanced at Ezio. "You know that was a lie, right? She still loves you, I don't think she ever stopped… and before you ask, I know this because I know her." Sighing, he asked, "Do you love her?"

For the millionth time today, it seemed, Ezio hesitated, "I… I'm still trying figure that out. I don't think I'd be able to recognize the feeling, at least not the romantic kind of love…"

"Then you should have been certain before you started throwing out that word. She's a sensitive person, you of all people should have realized that… Well," Leonardo slumped his shoulders, "I could have gone a few more months without having to deal with this again… I was hoping you two would wait at least another two weeks so we could be situated back in Venezia before this all exploded in our faces."

"You expected something like this to happen?" Ezio asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Of course I did," Leonardo gave a tense laugh, but it helped to dispel some of the tension that was still dissipating. "You two are destined for each other. I've know that since you arrived at my workshop with her in tow. I didn't expect you both to get on the same page so slowly, though, nor did I ever think there would be so much conflict. For a while I thought maybe I could prevent it… but apparently there was too much sexual tension. And then I thought her unreciprocated love for you would be the end of it, and I'd never have to dwell on your idiocies again. Apparently not. You both are one big piece of work."

The inventor gave one last shake of his head before standing and glancing back down at the assassin, "You had better fix this before we leave next week. There is no way I'm going all the way back to Venezia, alone with the two of you when you aren't talking." Slowly, he descended the stairs and Ezio walked him in silence. It wasn't until he got to the very last step that he turned back and said, "And if you have wanted a portrait of Margherita, all you had to do was ask."

* * *

Ezio didn't go searching for her after he found the bedchamber she shared with Leonardo empty. He figured wherever she had gone, it was to get away from him, but she wasn't stupid so she wouldn't get lost or kidnapped or anything. She'd certainly be fine. Instead, he went in search of his sister. She too, was no where to be seen. Giving up hope for a moment, he found himself in his mother's room.

His beautiful and tragic mother was just rising from bed, still in her sleepwear and a little mussed. She still allowed him into her room, cracking the door open just enough to see who had knocked, before glancing back into the room, nodding her head and allowing him entrance. Taking her hand, Ezio lead Maria to the bed and sat her down.

Still holding her hand, he sighed, "Good morning, mother."

She inclined her head ever so slightly and a small upturn of her lips gave away her muted joy at conversing with her only living son.

"Mother, I have a dilemma," he began, focusing on her hand clasped in his. "You know Margherita, yes? She… loves me. And I care for her, but I don't know if I love her and I've already hurt her once – well, probably several times – before, so I don't want to hurt her again. But, it appears I did just that this morning. I'm still not completely sure why she was so affected, but I know it was probably my fault. Or she's just overreacting, like always. She can be so hotheaded, you know? Passionate, and snarky, and she cries a lot and she has no moral code to speak of and she always has her head in a book and she's a commoner – no noble blood at all, no manners, she's a vegetarian – which is just stupid and she always manages to say the wrong thing, whether she means to or not, and when she means to hurt you she's definitely not above hitting below the belt… and I can't get her scent out of my head, or the pattern her freckles make across her face or the way her nose scrunches when she's saying something snarky." Pausing, he looked up at her, "How did you know you loved Father?"

Shifting the grip on his hand, Maria brought it up to just under her collarbone on the left side. Under his fingertips he could feel his mother's heartbeat. She smiled up at her son.

And as her heart was beating in her chest, his own had dropped into his gut. It was true then. Nodding his understanding, he removed his hand and stood. He assisted his mother in rising as well, "Thank you for your help, mother." There was another incline of her head and he bent, kissing her forehead.

It wasn't until he turned around to leave that he noticed the figure standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and looking directly at the floor. Ezio glanced back at his mother, who simply smiled at him that smug little smile she would always give him when she caught him sneaking into the house early in the morning. Then, she left the room, allowing Ezio and Margherita some time to talk.

The moment his mother disappeared from earshot, he began, "Margherita I'm –"

"Save it," she didn't say it meanly, just sharply. "I'm still mad at you."

"What can I do to get you to forgive me?"

"Tell me that you love me."

What was it with him hesitating? When he didn't say anything, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself off the wall, closing the distance between the two as she came to stand right under his nose, glaring up at him, arms crossed. She continued, "I want you to tell me that you love me. If you can't do that, then that's fine. I'll survive. I have a wonderful husband, a decent career. I don't need you as anything but a friend. So, if you can't say it, then just tell me now. You either love me or you don't."

"I can't imagine us having a relationship like my parents had," he explained.

"That's not much of an answer, Ezio."

At the sound of his name he clenched his jaw. "Listen, Margherita," he said, "I'm trying to explain." Sighing, he continued, "I can't envision us settling down – I still have so many people that must pay for what they did to my family, so many Templars. It would be foolish to settle down and raise children that could be used against me just as my brothers and father were. You need to know that I can't give you what Leonardo can –"

"But if you love me, you can give me that."

"Is that honestly enough?"

"That's more than enough…" she trailed off. "I don't expect much. I agree that it would be stupid to bring children into this conflict and marriage is out of the question because I can't annul my union with Leonardo without putting him back in danger. I don't even really want marriage… we've only really been fuck buddies and I don't know if I could be able to stand you as a husband. All I want is to know you love me. Whether we make a deeper commitment afterwards, exist as we always have, or become passionate and exclusive lovers doesn't matter to me right now."

Giving one last deep exhalation, Ezio said, "I love you."

* * *

There was a new atmosphere in the house, Leonardo had come to realize. There was no hesitation, no tension, no wasted dreams, broken promises, or dashed hopes. Even from across the dinner table, Leonardo noticed the way Maria smiled a bit more serenely… And he could guess the cause of all this relief… if the way Ezio kept his hand on Margherita's thigh all throughout lunch that day was any indication.

Leonardo knew this could only mean one thing: they had made up. Ezio had somehow managed to fix it – in just that short amount of time. What limb he had had to sell to gain her forgiveness, the artist didn't even want to know. It might have been his favorite appendage. Instead of questioning, Leonardo observed the two idiots in their natural habitat.

"I was thinking of going to the art merchant down in town," Claudia began, turning to Margherita. "Would you like to join me?"

Surprisingly, she glanced at Ezio before answering, "Yes, that would be lovely." And the two ladies left directly after the meal had concluded.

Ezio was just bounding up the stairs when Leonardo caught up to him. Normally Margherita was the little gossip girl, but honestly the artist needed to know what had transpired between the two to make their relationship jump leaps and bounds. And whether they had left themselves open for messing stuff up again.

"Hey! Ezio, my friend, why are you in such a hurry?"

The assassin paused at the landing and turned around, giving his friend a genuine and almost surprised smile. "I did not think I'd get to hear you call me that for a good long while." He took a single step downwards, though that did nothing to even the heights as Ezio was still at the very top and Leonardo was still at the very bottom.

"Is it official, then?" Leonardo asked, also taking a step closer.

"Yes, dear friend, I have made you a cuckold and have stolen your bride."

Just then, a bout of laughter sprung from down the corridor, as Mario entered the main entrance, his brother's widow on his arm. The man had taken to escorting her like the gentleman he could sometimes be, from meals and activities, then back to her room. It seemed the old mercenary had overheard that little comment.

"So the Auditores strike again!" he exclaimed. "We have a long history of stealing women, you know," he explained to Ezio. "In fact, it was Giovanni who first broke the tradition," he patted Maria's hand where it rested on the crook of his arm, "by seducing this fair and unattached maiden." Then, he smirked the famous Auditore smirk and asked Leonardo if he had any hard feelings regarding the whole scandal.

"No, no, no," the inventor defended, blushing. "It's quite alright… Our marriage was more one of convenience… I never really expected fidelity, especially with Ezio abound underfoot." Giving a shaky laugh, he joked, "How could I compete?"

Mario let forth another bout of laughter before wiping his joyous tears with his free hand and then asked, more seriously, "So, how long were you sitting around, waiting for them to figure it out on their own?"

"Hey," Ezio interrupted before Leonardo got a chance to respond. He nearly skipped down the stairs to get on their level, suddenly sick of being stationed so high above them, on the grounds of an observer and not a participator. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just that everyone under this roof knew you two were like little moths, circling, circling, circling," and with his finger, he spun his wrist around in a small circle to demonstrate his point, "around and around and around, just fluttering around open flame. We all hoped eventually you'd find each other instead of flying too close to the fire and burning up." Suddenly his focus shifted elsewhere, momentarily. "Ah! You leave in a week! Surely I can put together a wedding by then!"

Ezio felt his stomach drop, for reasons he didn't understand. It wasn't that the idea of being with Margherita for a great long while wasn't appealing, but marriage was a whole other field he didn't think he had time to explore right now, especially not with these people. "No, that's not necessary."

"But I want to see my nephew married off, here in the Auditore Villa!"

Giving a deep sigh, Ezio explained, "You are forgetting that she is still married to Leonardo, uncle. We would need to annul the marriage in a Venetian court before any vows could be exchanged. But I promise, if we do marry, I want you all to be there so don't worry."

"If? Bah!" Without another word, Mario left the room and escorted the silent Maria back to her bedchamber.

Once he was out of earshot Leonardo commented, "Wow, marriage, huh?"

Ezio glanced at him, "No, not yet. We've both decided that we're taking this one step at a time… Slowly." And then he began to ascend the stairs again, only to stop halfway and turn back to his friend, "I don't know why everyone is jumping to the conclusion that we must marry."

"Probably because for all the people who've watched you circling, circling, circling," Leonardo mimicked Mario's earlier moment in lighthearted mockery, "this has been very, very, very long in coming. Rosa and I have had entire conversations about when you two would finally get your heads out of your asses and figure all this stuff out. We had a bet in fact… It seems she lost. I had more faith in you, apparently."

"And when did this conversation take place?"

"Around the same time you were juggling both of them, I suppose. Without my permission I might add…"

Ezio ignored Leonardo's attempt at a glare, and instead fully climbed the stairs and returned to his bedchamber to prepare for afternoon training.

* * *

"Your sister took me to the tailors," Margherita announced as she entered his bedchamber hours later after having returned from town. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and watched with appreciative eyes as Ezio stripped off his sweaty training attire in preparation for dinner.

Margherita wasn't known for her small talk, but Ezio humored her anyway, "And did you buy anything?"

"No." The sharpness of her tone made him observe her more closely. Her fair skin was tinged pink on the apples of the cheek. "She wanted me to order a wedding gown."

Ezio lifted his last tunic above his head, "Ah."

"Ah."

Simply throwing the shirt onto the pile on his bed, Ezio put a hand out to Margherita, which she gratefully crossed the room for and accepted warmly. He none-too-gently pulled her against his sweat-drenched body and smiled down at her. She returned the gesture of affection as she wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned even more into him.

"Yes, according to my family and your husband, everyone always expected us to become mates and so now that we finally have, they are under the impression that we are taking it too slowly."

Margherita nodded in understanding, "Your sister said basically the same thing. In fact, I think her exact words were, "You've fucked, you've fought, you're in love, that's basically marriage – what more do you need?" She's a lovely girl by the way."

The assassin just laughed and buried his nose into her hair, "Yes, she is a lovely girl. But I can top that: Leonardo and Rosa had a bet going about how long it would take us "to finally get our heads out of our asses and figure all this stuff out". Why are we friends with such wretched people, again? You must remind me…"

"Because they are the only people who can put up with us."

"Ah, yes," Ezio pulled back slightly to place a kiss at her hairline, "I knew there must be a reason."

Laughing, Margherita placed her mouth fully onto his and wondered whether they would actually manage to make it to dinner.

**End Part IV**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: This is long. I hope it makes up for the lack of length in my most recent chapters. Also, I just want you all to know that I am overwhelmingly excited for the next chapter. And you should be, too. And I'd tell you why, but that would ruin the surprise. Honestly, after the lemon scene, this next chapter has been the part of the story I've been so absolutely anxious to get to. Before I even wrote the first chapter, before I even fully planned out the plot, I knew I wanted to do this. I knew I needed to do this. It was necessary. It was a nice twist. It was kind of unoriginal, but I'm hoping that I'll be able to have my own take on it all that makes it original.**

**I'm just super excited.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

The sun was just rising over the horizon and peeking in through their bedroom window, when Ezio finally blinked his eyes against the visual assault. With a muted groan, he buried his head further into the waves of her hair that were splayed out across the pillow. Margherita responded with a similar lack of noise but tense movement, turning even more fully into his side. Eventually the famed assassin surrendered and instead slipped his fingers through her hair, gently tugging the knots out that had formed during the night. When she lazily blinked up at him, they both shared a smile and kissed.

"What are we doing today?" she asked after they pulled apart.

"I don't know, did you have anything in mind?"

"Not really."

"Me either."

"Well, that's quite a dilemma, now isn't it?"

"Mmm, hum."

"Yup…"

"We could just stay here… all… day…"

Margherita fervently pressed her lips back against his, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. She released him with a loud _smack_. "Tempting, tempting, tempting…" she purred.

"I think it's a wonderful idea."

"Me too."

"Then it's settled."

"Yes it is."

And no more words were spoken as she returned to her ministrations and Ezio reciprocated just as eagerly. Nearly an hour later they came up for air, relaxed and sated and back to square one.

"Well, that was fun," Margherita sighed into his bicep as it curled around her head.

"Yes it was," Ezio responded, stroked a finger down her ribcage, giving a bright, gleeful smile as she shivered under his touch.

"Hmm."

Sighing, Ezio pushed himself on to his elbow and looked down at her from that angle, "If you want to say something, please do so."

She blinked up at him innocently, "What are you talking about?"

"You are… what is that phrase you use…? "Beating the bush"…yes, that's it! You are beating a bush!"

"… Yes, Ezio, I am beating a bush. I am most definitely beating a bush."

"So then you should just say what's on your mind."

"Well," Margherita bit her lip, "it's not that I'm not having fun, quite a lot of fun in fact – but I'm not really a naturally lazy person and so staying in bed all day isn't that appealing even if we are quite… active."

"Ah, so shall we go out, then?"

"That might be fun."

"Alright," Ezio sat up fully, only to bend down and give her one last kiss, before climbing out of bed and throwing on a pair of breeches. Margherita followed him. "Where shall we go?"

"The waterfront maybe?"

"Would the Arsenal suffice?"

"You mean the one place you can't seem to stay away from?"

Ezio sighed, throwing his shirt over his head and tucking it into his breeches. They had left Monteriggioni and arrived in Venice with no problem. Both in terms of travel (yes, yes, yes, no repeat of that horrid wagon incident) and in terms of relationship. In fact, besides the rare serious disagreement, they hadn't gotten into a legitimate fight in ages… since they had finally decided to just give in and give up. It seemed they had both surrendered and both won.

The assassin left for a few weeks at a time to do some work for the Medici, but for the most part remained in Venice assisting the Thieves Guild. When he was gone, she missed him… found herself waiting by her bedchamber window, watching for the first sign of his return. Once, he had taken her with him. His target was in Milan but would be arriving in Firenze within the month so he was able take his time in getting there. So, he'd invited her and since things had calmed down drastically with the sodomite allegations she had decided to go with him.

A few months earlier she had gotten married to Leonardo, and then it seemed she was going on her honeymoon with Ezio. She had tried to explain the concept of a honeymoon to the assassin, but apparently it was a rather contemporary thing. It had been blissful. And wonderful. And fantastic. And meeting the famed Lorenzo de Medici had been quite gratifying.

Ezio had just gotten back from a solo assassination in Firenze and so the logical choice would be to spend the day in bed after the long draught apart. But of course he wanted to go back to his favorite spot in the whole wide world, it seemed. There wasn't a lot of things he discussed with her openly regarding his occupation, (and she really didn't bother to ask) but he had mentioned that a ship had left for Cyprus and it was very important. So, one of his favorite past times was to sit and stare at the waves crashing against the docks. She knew he was bored and frustrated with the fact that his plans had been stopped short.

"I can stay away from there," he defended.

"I'm certain you could," she smiled at him from across the room as she slipped on her under dress. "Lace me, would you?" she asked, pulling her hair off her back, over her shoulder, and exposing her back for him.

With hands dexterous after years of strapping armor onto his body, fixing buckles and handling throwing knives, Ezio plucked at the lacing that went up her back. When he was done, he slid a hand down her neck, before pulling her hair back over her shoulder and caressing it. "It's gotten so long…" he commented.

"I know."

"You haven't cut it, have you? Not since I've known you at least…"

"Nope, I just haven't felt like cutting it."

Chuckling, Ezio spun her around and slid his fingers through the strands. "It was so short, remember? Barely to your chin," to demonstrate, the pad of his thumb jumped against her jaw. "Is that the custom, in England, to wear your hair short?"

"No, not really," she spoke tensely hoping that he wouldn't see the flinch she tried to suppress. No, she hadn't exactly gotten around to telling him about that whole "yo, I'm from another realm where you're a character in a videogame!" because she really didn't ever want to have that conversation. It was odd, she had always assumed that remaining around as the game was played all the way to the end would somehow liberate her eventually.

Now, she wasn't so sure.

To Margherita, the game had always seemed so short – something she played during boring vacations even though she had always preferred Fable II. She had forgotten that the game spanned more than thirty years. Thirty years. Only ten of those years had passed and it still felt like a lifetime. She couldn't remember what her mother looked like – her father, her brothers… they were a blur. Her life before now... She couldn't remember when she'd stopped thinking of this realm as a game… and instead called it reality.

What was reality, she often wondered.

Surely if she could touch things here, hold things here, love things here, be loved here, hurt things here, be hurt here… surely this was reality. Or a reality. One of many, maybe. But hers now, it seemed.

So what was the harm in not telling Ezio the truth?

Why confuse him?

Yes, she had decided long ago, it was better to simply carry on just as she always had. So, she continued to stare up at him, schooling her expression into something more neutral. Ezio still managed to see the slight quiver of her face and he said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up your homeland." So, it seemed he had misinterpreted her wince.

"It's alright," she placed her hand over his own against her jaw, moving it down to her neck. "But, yeah, I was a bit of an anomaly there… I liked it though, it was pretty low maintenance. Now it takes a little more effort, but it's worth it."

Ezio dragged his fingers from underneath hers, down to her shoulder, past her breast, to swing limply beside himself. "I like it."

"I know you do."

Humming deep in the back of his throat, he turned and snapped over his shoulder with no malice whatsoever, "You were the one who wanted to leave the bliss that was our bed, so get dressed you wanton wench."

Oh, the wondrous nicknames that Ezio managed to come up with. "Wanton wench" was his personal favorite. "Shrew" was his second favorite. "Mademoiselle" was never mentioned again. Nor did he bother with the cute little pet names he used for other women. Once Rosa overheard him referring to her as such and had been momentarily floored.

"Did he just call you a wench?" she had asked Margherita, just as Ezio had left the room.

"Oh yeah," Margherita hadn't even bothered to glance up from her book as she snobbishly turned a page. Rosa, being illiterate like most women of the time, had never understood the allure of books and had once mentioned that Margherita resembled a snotty little noblewoman whenever she was reading… so of course the blonde used every opportunity to read in front of Rosa, as snobbishly as possible just to annoy the thief.

"Trouble in paradise?" Margherita had finally glanced up at the thief, wondering whether that phrase had been patented yet. When she had finally realized the question, Margherita had shaken her head, laughing under her breath.

"No, no, no," she had finally managed to smile over her book after the laughing subsided. "That's just something he calls me."

"… he calls you a wench… affectionately…?"

"Why? Does that sound odd?"

"… Not for you two," Rosa had finally decided. "Actually, that sounds just like you two."

Margherita couldn't remember when he'd started using words like "we", "us", and "ours" – especially "ours". But he had, at one point. And maybe she'd started around that same time too... either way her bedchamber had become their bedchamber, her happiness had become their happiness, her life had become their life. She wondered sometimes when they would make it official. As it was, Claudia's constant letters that Margherita often rushed to respond to included many hints towards marriage. Which Margherita ignored. Pointedly.

For now.

* * *

Relaxing against the bench, Margherita glanced at Ezio's back. At first he had relaxed with her, but slowly his face had darkened and he'd begun to lean over his knees, placing his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers and staring off into space. He was quiet. And she knew better than to bother him. That was the silent agreement: sometimes there were moments that neither wanted to share and so they would remain in silence until the other was finally willing to change the subject. And that was alright.

He didn't ask her to take off her fingerless glove. She didn't ask him to talk about his brothers… especially Federico.

And that was alright.

But now she was worried about him… this was an obsession of his and when she wasn't exactly sure where he was, she always knew that she could find him there, sitting on that bench, just brooding. And brooding he was.

Leaning forward, she discreetly ran her hand down his armored back, to rest on his lower back. She opened her mouth to say something, but quickly realized there was nothing she could say to make him feel better. So, she shut her mouth and instead placed her chin lightly on his shoulder hoping maybe her emotion could transfer to him with simple touch. Apparently not, as he didn't even glance at her.

They remained that way for several more seconds before – "There you are, Ezio!"

Rosa approached the two as the couple spotted her in the crowd. Margherita sat up straight and greeted the thief with a nod of her head. Ezio did even less than that, continuing to sit impassively. "Why so serious?" she asked, glancing between the two.

"It's my birthday," Ezio answered simply.

"It's your birthday?" Margherita exclaimed, jerking him to face her. He gave her a small smile… oh, yeah. It _was_ his birthday. And she should have known that. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. But if his smile was any indication, he didn't mind her forgetting… it probably made up for that one time when he called her by Rosa's name… out of bed, lucky man. Letting out a long exhalation of breath she repeated, in a statement form this time, "It's your birthday."

Rosa smirked at Margherita, "Really?" The thief plopped herself down between the two and turned to the assassin who had since returned to his brooding, a hand on his shoulder, "Happy Birthday! That's wonderful!"

The blonde woman had to lean almost in half to see past Rosa's obstructing figure and get a good view of Ezio's face. "Is it?" he asked, still refusing to look at either of them. "It's been over ten years since I watched my father and brothers die… Ten years hunting the men responsible. I'm so close to the end now, but… no closer to understanding what any of it was for."

"You may not see it, but it's better here now because of the things you've done." Rosa gestured around the dock, even though only the other female followed her motions. "Enough," she stated sharply, "Look here, I have a birthday present for you." As she removed it from her satchel, she smirked at Margherita who returned her expression with a haughty grimace. The promise of a present got Ezio's attention however and he finally glanced at the girls – and for that Margherita was glad. "It's L'Arsenale's Shipping Manifest – from the day the boat left," she explained.

"The boat to Cyprus? You're serious – ?" Ezio grasped at the book like a little child grasping at candy. Margherita was forced to recall a time when he had flirtatiously attempted to steal her own book… good times, those. Even if these times were better.

Rosa, almost on cue, reached the book out of his grasp… and because she had mistakenly situated herself between the couple, the book was now in Margherita's range. "And guess when it's scheduled to return?... Tomorrow."

It quickly became apparent that Rosa was jokingly flirting with Ezio – probably because she was bored and Margherita couldn't blame her all that much. Life very quickly gets boring when your best catch is caught and committed to another. That didn't mean she appreciated her friend so blatantly flirting with her lover. So, she snatched the book clean out of Rosa's hands, with perfect timing as the moment was broken and both the assassin and the thief turned to look at the blonde and the book in her grip.

"Ezio!" came a cry from within the crowd. In unison, the three heads turned to face the voice.

"Leonardo!" Margherita jumped up from the bench, shoving the manifest into Ezio's hands, before flinging herself into her husband's arms. As the scandal had subsided, more commissions came in. Then they spiked, doubled, tripled, quadrupled and with Margherita spending more time with Ezio it always seemed like she didn't get enough time to hang out with her best friend. He's been busy with a fresco for some merchant family and she hadn't seen him for the past six days… well, truly seen him – fleeting glances in town didn't count.

Ezio also chimed in, "Leonardo, when did you get back?"

"Just now. I need to talk to you. Right away," the painter glanced back and forth between the two females hoping they would get the message. Rosa quickly did as she stood up.

"Go on, have fun boys," the thief laughed. Margherita was less convinced.

"This better be good," Ezio decided, tersely, lifting a single finger almost to convey the importance. In that moment, Rosa nodded her goodbye to Margherita, left and dissolved into the crowd.

"Oh, it is, it is. Walk with me. Stay close."

Ezio glanced at Margherita. Shoving the manifest into the area between his armor and shirt, he advanced on his lover. Bending down slightly he placed a halfhearted and terribly practiced kiss on her lips, saying, "I'll see you later tonight."

Placing hands on hips, she huffed, "And why can't I hear this?"

She supposed that he hadn't meant to give it away, but Ezio's eyes had strained downwards, back to Leonardo, or especially, to the scrolls protruding from Leonardo's bag. Codex pages. Things she wasn't suppose to know about. Important Templar-Assassin stuff that she simply wasn't privy to. She almost wanted to stomp her feet and say, "but I know everything already, you can tell me anything because I probably know more than you!" but mostly, she wanted to say, "don't lie to me."

He did anyways. "It's not that important and you'll probably be bored. Besides, this will give you the opportunity to go get me something for my birthday." Ah, the guilt trip.

"Oh Ezio, it's your birthday?" Leonardo asked.

The assassin didn't bother to respond, choosing to maintain eye contact with Margherita instead, hoping to convince her that this battle was neither worth it, nor something she could win. She gave up, she kissed him, she left.

* * *

Dinner was done and the dishes put away when Margherita climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. She was halfway changed when the _click_ of her window lock announced her visitor. Not even bothering to turn around, she listened as he dropped his belt, his wrist guards, his armor and finally, his hood.

"Your present is on the table," she said.

And she heard him cross the room and gingerly pick up the feathers between his fingers, twirling them around to evaluate them from every angle.

"These are in very good condition. They can't have been on the ground or else they'd have been trampled on. You would have had to climb onto the roof of a building to find these."

"Some roofs aren't as high up as you'd think they would be."

"Ah. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Happy Birthday."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Silence.

"So, what did you and Leonardo discuss after I left?"

"Nothing important."

"Okay."

"Yes."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

The next morning Ezio was quick to leave, claiming business with the thieves and some assassination mission or another. Margherita let him leave without too much fuss and instead found her way down into her little workshop, searching for that little book of hers in which she had written the events of the game as she had remembered them. It had typically been kept safe and out of the hands of Leonardo or worse – Ezio, because she really didn't want to have to have that conversation. These days, though, she wasn't sure exactly where it was.

Grabbing a pile of her other miscellaneous books, she shifted them to the other table and kneeled down in front of the cabinet.

"Looking for something?" Leonardo asked, leaning against the threshold of her workshop.

"Yes actually, a notebook of mine from a long, long time ago," she answered, recognizing her mentor's voice.

"Whatever for?"

"I don't really know," she said, standing up and abandoning the search for now. "I just remembered some idea from a while ago and thought to maybe work on it now that I have a lot of free time."

"Hm," Leonardo left the room, making his way to the kitchen and Margherita followed him, hungry as well.

The artist grabbed an apple and threw it to her, before he grabbed a piece of the red fruit for himself, rolling it between his hands and refusing to look at her. Margherita could tell something was up. "As Ezio would say, you are beating a bush," she joked.

"What?" he glanced up. "What am I doing?"

"It's an expression. It's really "beating around the bush" but Ezio is a bit of an idiot. It means that you aren't saying something outright – you're skirting the issue. What's up?"

"It's been a year and a half, nearing two years, since you two became lovers…" Then he broke eye contact again, focusing on the wall opposite them. "When you want me to get the marriage annulled, please tell me and I'll do it."

"We haven't even begun to think about that, yet, Leonardo," she explained.

"I know, but you will. And when you do, I want you to know that I have no problem going to the Venetian court and making up some excuse or another and dissolving our marriage. Just know that I'll miss you when you leave." He took a huge bite out of his apple, chewing loudly and aggressively.

Oh. So that was the issue.

"Leave? Where will I be going?"

She waited patiently for him to finish chewing, "To the Auditore Villa," he explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why would I go back there? Just because Ezio and I are married? That's kind of stupid, don't you think. Don't get me wrong, they are lovely people and everything and I adore his sister and mother and uncle and all the people we met in town, but you're family. You're my family more than they are and I swear to God, if that stupid assassin assumes he can stick me in a house and call it a day after we're married he certainly has another thing coming because I fully intend to remain inventing and creating and discussing. And that's that." Margherita finally took a breath and then shoved the apple into her mouth, glancing away from Leonardo. Good distraction, that.

When she finally did glance over at him, he was staring at her, his eyes sparkling. She gave a great big swallow just in time to be swept off her feet by the inventor as he embraced her. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, "I don't know what I'd do without you!"

"Me either, Leonardo, me either," she soothed as she patted his back gently.

* * *

"Ah ha! Found you, you little sucker!" Margherita said triumphantly as she yanked the book from the very bottom of the chest. Honestly, how had it managed to fall all the way down there? Really? Really?

She skimmed the last few pages…

_Ezio flies… kills guy… fights some dude… gets Apple (stupid fucking fruit). _In the margins next to that last sentence, she had had an epiphany one night and rushed to scribble, _Possible way of returning home?_

That must be it, then. The Apple. It must be that thing on the boat that Ezio was waiting and waiting for…. And that was returning today. Alrighty then, Margherita could deal with that.

Sighing, she closed the book and leaned back against the table. He'd be fine, that much she knew. So long as she didn't manage to fuck anything up, he'd get through that little battle, get the Apple, and maybe she'd get to go home… assuming that was what she wanted and assuming that the Apple could truly get her back home. She continued to relax against the sturdy wood of the table, hoping that it would give her some of that stability she seemed to be lacking mentally.

"Hey, Margherita!"

She jumped at the voice that startled her and quickly shoved the secret-bound book under her lap just in time to look up at Leonardo. "Y-yes?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"I need some more canvases, but I have a meeting with a patron in half an hour, could you please go buy some. I just need standard size."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she stood on shaking feet and smiled at her mentor. "It's not a problem." _And it's something to get my mind off of all this craziness…_

_

* * *

_Margherita was barely in the marketplace, perusing the collection of canvases when her eyes focused on the mini parade of guards walking in the streets. Which wasn't an usual thing – that… the guards always sort of followed a certain formation when they were traveling but this time their armor was much different… fancier in a way. The metal was shinier and they held themselves with a sort of stiffness that worried Margherita.

And then she happened to catch sight of the one in the very middle, carrying a wooden box and being very careful about it. His walk was familiar, she realized. The dimensions of his body were also so terribly familiar. She had the nagging feeling that she had glided her hands over those broad shoulders, pressed her body up against that stiff chest… looked into those honey eyes.

_Ezio._

Pushing herself more into the crowd, trying to snatch a better look, Margherita quickly came to the realization of why that man looked so familiar. It was Ezio. Why the heck was he dressed like that, though? She swiftly recalled the reason for that too – he was posing as a guard, right? And that thing in the box was the Apple of Eden. Her ticket home… kind of.

There was a brief moment when she did honestly think of heading back. She told herself to grab the canvases and return to the workshop and let Ezio deal with his missions and his life and his revenge all by himself. But another thought occurred to her: she had managed to fuck everything else up… who's to say she didn't manage to fuck one little thing up, once upon a time and that one little thing snowballed into a whole other thing and that whole other thing would get Ezio killed? So, her solution was to follow the assassin.

_Besides,_ she justified further, correctly sensing that her other reason was flimsy and terribly unfounded, _he lied to me. He can't expect me to follow orders if he doesn't give me any simply because he doesn't want to bother to inform me of certain things…_

And with that, she was off, winding through the crowd just as the train of guards was doing. With the bunch of them at a safe distance, she kept them in her sight. Thankfully, Ezio was so focused on keeping the Apple safe that he never bothered to glance back… his Eagle Vision would have given her away. Once he had told her that when he focused on using his Sight (as he wrongfully called it) she and Leonardo had an aura of blue, which was reserved for allies. She had laughed, kissed him, and asked what color was reserved for lovers.

Finally, the procession turned a corner and Margherita knew they must have stopped. After living here for as long as she had, she knew each and every little alleyway and she knew that they had come to a dead-end. The only other way to that area was a small, thin tunnel-ish alleyway that they surely couldn't fit through… But she could.

When she got around to that side however, she had to stop short, quickly and retreat. It was already overrun with guards, seemingly laying in wait. They were facing the opening on the other side though, and hadn't seen her sneak up. From the clanging of metal from the other side, however, she knew the battle had already begun. Turning back, she passed a ladder leading up to the roof of the building. She knew no archers were stationed up there – if they were, they'd have come down by now to join the fight, yes? And it wasn't so terribly high up… right?

Steeling herself, Margherita bit her lip and grasped the ladder, pulling herself up. She was barely halfway when vertigo hit and she had to glance down. Sure, she'd been up in her hot air balloon that one time with Ezio and had survived. And she'd climbed up one of these ridiculously unsteady things before to get those feathers for Ezio… but that building hadn't been nearly as tall. Wow, that was high up. This was so ludicrous, why was she doing this again?

"You have no idea, do you?" she heard from the other side of the building between her and her beloved. "Guards!"

And a clanging of men trying to run in armor sounded. That's why she was climbing up this accursed thing. Closing her eyes, she gave a deep breath. _I'm standing right in front of you. If you open your eyes, all you'll see is my face. You can feel how close we are, right? Trust me._

So, she continued.

With upper-body strength she didn't know she had, Margherita pulled herself up onto the roof and slid fully onto the steady foundation. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, she finally opened her eyes and glanced about… only for her gaze to land on two figures who were standing near the edge, watching the battle below. Damn it, she hadn't expected any guards up here! She mentally processed whether she'd be able to scoot to the ladder again and get down before they noticed her…

No such luck. One of them slowly turned his head and spotted her. Instead of yelling at her intrusion and swiftly killing her, the person turned fully around and gracefully walked towards Margherita, who was still lying on her stomach, on the ground, at the mercy of this person. The moonlight struck her face in just a way… and suddenly Margherita recognized the person.

"You're – you're that one woman," Margherita accused, sticking a finger out to point at the vixen.

"I'm Paola," she said, gracefully bowing her head. "Yes, we have met before. You were very silent, then, though."

"I… I didn't speak Italian back then," Margherita explained, pushing herself to her feet.

Paola nodded, smiled serenely, and walked back to the edge. Margherita followed her.

"I would suggest," began the other woman, who Margherita didn't recognize offhand, "that if you intend to watch the fight, you should remain quiet. These men aren't above killing women. Especially women assassins."

"You're an assassin?" Margherita asked, forcing herself to sit before she glanced down at the battle below.

The women gave no response, and it honestly didn't matter because Margherita quickly became fascinated with the battle.

Ezio had just dispatched the last of Borgia's guards when Mario stepped in. "Uncle?" the young assassin exclaimed.

Mario gave the hearty laugh he was known for, "Don't worry, nephew. You are not alone." Then Mario ran to join the scuffle.

Unfortunately, Ezio's eyes trailed after him and he didn't notice the guard that was swiftly approaching. Margherita opened her mouth to warn him, but it seemed the women had other ideas. Paola knelt down, roughly placing a hand over the younger girls mouth, silencing any warning and Margherita watched, horrified, as the guard knocked Ezio down and then raised his weapon to finish him off. Grasping at Paola's wrist, she fought against the muzzle, letting out a muted scream. Thankfully, La Volpe flew in and cut down the guard. Margherita relaxed against the brothel owner enough that she let go.

"Forward!" Borgia cried. And the chaos simply grew. Margherita recognized Antonio, though, down fighting with his knives.

It seemed the assassins were winning. Snatches of battle cries were caught by the blonde, promises of death, one assassin exclaiming that this was fun and they should do it more often, and then Borgia… the man kept spewing nonsense about "the vault" and that Ezio couldn't change "what was written".

Finally, Borgia was cornered by Ezio and obviously losing. "This is a losing battle for you, boy," he claimed. "You will die by you hand, just like your father…"

Margherita's heart clenched and she hoped it wasn't true… it couldn't be true.

Borgia parried one of Ezio's blows, caught him off balance and punched him across the face. Margherita winced and Ezio gave a low grunt on impact. But the assassin turned around with his own block and kicked the Templar directly in the gut. Just as Borgia tried to refocus, Ezio gripped his sword and announce, "This is for my father, you –"

He was too late, though. Borgia recovered far more quickly than Ezio had apparently anticipated and responded with a swift kick of his own. Ezio hit the ground hard and Borgia turned tail like the coward he was, running away through the small alley. Suddenly, the bright red of Paola's dress caught Margherita's eye, and she blinked. Twisting around, she noted that she was all alone up there. When had they left? And how had they gotten down there so quickly?

Margherita watched as Paola helped him up, even though she couldn't hear what she told him. Now that the fighting was over, everyone spoke far more softly and the night air carried away each syllable. She observed, however, as the assassins surrounded him and noted the way he regarded them, incredulously. Then, a man Margherita had never seen before seemed to be talking to Ezio. Their conversation lasted a short while before Mario approached his nephew, placing a hand on his shoulder and then leaving. Antonio also had something to say to the young assassin before he too disappeared. Finally Paola drifted over to him and gestured up to the building where Margherita sat.

She and Ezio made eye contact and even in the darkness she knew he frowned.

Nodding his thanks to Paola, he rapidly scaled the wall and was kneeling at Margherita's side within half a minute.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing out of his mouth. He didn't look too happy.

"I saw you in the marketplace, dressed like a guard," she explained. "I was worried."

"So, in that smart little head of yours you decided it might be a good idea to follow me?" When all she could do was stare up at him blankly, he finally lost it. Grasping her upper arms painfully, he shook her. "That was a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do, you idiot! You stupid wanton wench! What would have happened if they had noticed you, huh? Do you know what they would have done? They would have killed you! Or they would have used you to bargain with me for that stupid artifact!" By this time, tears were leaking from Margherita's eyes as she limply let herself be roughly shaken back and forth. "And you know what I would have done? I'd have let them have that thing! I'd have let them take the thing that had caused the death of my father and brothers. I would have given up the thing I've been searching for, I'd have given up killing Borgia and avenging my family all because you are a stupid, stupid, stupid little girl!"

Margherita didn't bother to respond, she honestly couldn't as the tears just kept coming and coming and coming. Bowing her head, she stared at his knees, letting the moisture slide down her face.

Suddenly, Ezio roughly pulled her against him, cradling her in his arms. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, little girl," he whispered into her hair as he rocked back and forth.

"I'm sorry," she croaked.

He just sighed, tightening his grip.

"I've just messed up everything by being here," she began… not entirely in her right mind. "I keep making mistakes and causing problems that shouldn't have happened. I didn't want this to be messed up because of me. I didn't want you to end up dead because I'm an intruder in this place."

Pulling her back slightly, Ezio glanced over her face. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

She sighed and lulled her head back forward slightly, "Nothing. I'm just sorry."

Giving a slow nod, Ezio reached up and brushed the tears away before picking her up and carrying her back down the ladder, all the way back to the workshop.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: This is early because it's a treat for me because I love it and want to share it with you lovely people. Honestly, this scene has been nearly my sole inspiration for this story because before I even came up with names and identities and plot I had this imagine in my head… and it's only managed to manifest itself now. Shame, I know. But it was necessary to wait. And so, wait I did. But now it's here! Have fun!**

**One little comment/justification: Ezio's a pretty resilient guy. I mean, he went from seeing his family killed, to meeting up with his servant, to flirting with Paola. Dude bounces back pretty easily. Nothing really shakes him.**

**Warning: Dialogue heavy. Like, dialogue to the extreme… it's essentially, dialogue obesity.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

He settled her down on her – their – bed, smoothed some of the hair from her face, dropped a million kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead, chin and lips and lips and lips. Then he pulled back, whispered, "I love you" and left through her window. Margherita kept herself curled on the bed, shivering in the warm summer night air. She honestly hadn't expected him to react like that… and she honestly hadn't thought she would have felt as she did after witnessing that… It was one thing to see him so in control during a fight, it was another to see him actually struggle.

Memories of the time when he had been poisoned and half-dead resurfaced. He wasn't invincible. Margherita had always just assumed he was, had always remembered the "desynchronizing" screen that promised a restart. But she had never really gotten to test that theory. For all she knew, he could be killed. And the way he struggled against the guards and Borgia, it hit something in her.

Tugging her arm out from the covers, she yanked off her fingerless glove. The scar hadn't changed much over the years, still puffy and pink and numb. She brought it to her lips and pressed it against the smooth flesh. Still no feeling. Cold, though, so cold. How could something so burning end up so cold?

_Ten years, _she recalled Ezio saying. _Ten years since I watched my friends and innocent people die. And I'm no closer to my goal. And I'm not even certain I want my goal anymore. _

Margherita didn't know how long she remained like that, curled and shivering and hoping Ezio would return soon to warm her with his mere presence. Eventually, her bodice began cutting into her side and she pulled herself up to get changed. She didn't bother to replace her glove as she slid into a linen nightgown. Then, she crawled back into the bed and stroked up and down the scar.

Finally, shuffling downstairs alerted her to the guests.

"Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating," Margherita heard as she appeared on the landing of the upper staircase. Three men surrounded Leonardo as he knelt in front of the table, staring at a golden globe. Hmm, she took a step closer, placing a hand on the railing and leaning forward to get a better look. The Apple of Eden, the root of all this nonsense. Sure, she had seen it up close, felt it under her fingers, but she hadn't honestly taken the time to memorize it.

As her foot slid forward, the staircase creaked and the three hyper-sensitive assassins turned to spot the intruder. Mario quickly recognized her and returned to staring at the Apple. The other man, one she didn't recognize even remotely glanced at Ezio for assurance that she could be trusted and at his nod, he turned back to the Apple as well. Ezio reached a hand up, gesturing for her to come down the stairs.

Hiking her nightgown up, she bounded down the stairs and let Ezio wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to himself.

"What is it, Leonardo? What does it do?" Ezio asked.

"I could no more explain this than explain to you why the Earth goes around the Sun!" Margherita blinked. She tried to remember when that particular bit of information had been discovered… and how in the hell Leonardo managed to know that stuff.

"You mean the Sun around the Earth?" Mario suggested.

When Leonardo didn't answer his question, Margherita said, "No, the Earth and all the planets orbit the Sun."

All three assassins turned to stare at her for a moment, before Leonardo continued, "It's fabricated with materials that shouldn't exist…" Everyone focused back on the Apple and Margherita felt her breath catch in her throat – Leonardo had reached over and had placed a hand on the Apple. Why wasn't he being transported elsewhere? Why was only she affected by that stupid artifact? "And _yet_… this is clearly a very ancient artifact."

Mario explained, "The Codex refers to it as "A Piece of Eden"."

"The Spaniard… He called it "The Apple"," Ezio added.

It seemed everyone jumped to the same conclusion but Leonardo was the first to speak, "Like Eve's Apple? Of Forbidden Knowledge? Are you suggesting that this thing…" he trailed off.

Margherita felt Ezio's hand slip from her waist as he took a step closer to the Apple. His hand hovered over the artifact for a moment and Margherita, sensing the impeding doom, reached out to grasp his wrist. The assassin paused to glance at her. She tried, tried, tried, to plead with her eyes. _Please don't touch it, please don't touch it._ It shouldn't be touched, she decided. "Forbidden Knowledge," Leonardo had called it. Forbidden. Shouldn't touch it. Shouldn't let it touch your flesh. Don't, don't, don't.

There was nothing she could honestly say though, and Ezio gently pulled his wrist from her grip and with renewed vigor, placed his hand directly on top of the Apple.

Bright lights flashed around. The man she didn't recognize and Mario suddenly bent over, clutching their ears and shutting their eyes. They were in pain. _He shouldn't have touched it,_ Margherita reaffirmed as she witnessed the agony of these two men. Leonardo and Ezio seemed unaffected by it, however, just like Margherita. The three of them glanced around at the designs being projected on the wall.

Little patterns, some she didn't even recognized splattered themselves on the workshop walls. They never remained for too long, but some Margherita was able to identify. That pattern was a Unit Circle, and that was a map of Africa… a table of elements…

And suddenly everything grew far too bright and the designs took over her entire vision. It was so overwhelming that Margherita let out a little yelp and threw her arms up to protect herself. God, she didn't want to leave. This was just like last time – bright lights, taking up her vision, vision, visions, and not being able to breathe and oh my god, she was going home, she didn't want to go home. She wanted to be here. Ezio, Ezio, Ezio, don't let me go.

It seemed that the small noise that came from her mouth shocked something in Ezio and he recovered enough to place his hand back over the Apple. Just as quickly as the patterns had come, they dissipated, fading from the walls. Slowly, everyone came back to reality and Margherita was instantly by Ezio's side again, gripping his sleeve between her fingers like a child. He glanced at her and gave her a nod of assurance.

She was safe, she was home. Margherita let out a deep sigh as everyone moved back towards the table. She was still home.

"This must never fall into the wrong hands," Leonardo explained. "I would drive weaker minds insane…"

"No doubt, the Spaniard will be relentless in his desire to gain it back," Ezio commented.

"Ezio," the unfamiliar man began, "you must protect this with all the skills we have taught you."

"Take it to Forli," Mario suggested. "The citadel is walled, protected by canons – and our ally controls it."

"Who is this ally?" asked Ezio.

"Her name is Caterina Sforza."

Margherita snorted. Ezio glanced at her with a small smirk. "You don't say…"

"Keep it in your pants or else I'll kill you," she stated, mentally recovering for a moment.

"Of course, of course," he grinned.

"Who are you?"

Margherita turned to face the unfamiliar man who had made that inquiry. "I could ask you the same thing," she snarked.

"I am Niccolo Machiavelli," he answered. "And you are…?"

"Margherita da Vinci."

Machiavelli (of course, how could she have forgotten the famed writer and political advisor?) glanced between Ezio's sleeve, still in Margherita's grip, and Leonardo who seemed so terribly oblivious. "Leonardo," Machiavelli began, "I was not aware you had a sister."

The inventor chuckled behind his hand, "She is not my sister, friend. She is my wife."

Once again, his eyes slid between Margherita's grasp and the artist. She decided to spare him further confusion, "We have a very odd relationship," she smiled cheekily.

The writer simply blinked at her, before shaking his head and bidding the group farewell. Mario turned to Leonardo, "You two must come visit me again sometime! We all certainly miss your company!"

"If I have some free time I'd love to come visit!" Leonardo explained, "I have had so many commissions lately that it's become difficult to even spend time with Margherita or Ezio."

Mario accepted this and then moved on to Ezio, giving him a manly hug and then turning to Margherita. "When shall you be joining our family, then?" he asked as he released her from a bear hug.

"Who knows," she responded, smiling up at the paternal man.

Giving Ezio a pointed look, Mario finally left.

"Well, I'm exhausted," Leonardo said, stretching. "This has been such a trying day. I'm going to turn in." He made his way to the staircase turning back once to say, "Goodnight, you two."

"Night," Margherita echoed. And once he left, she wrapped her arms around herself and pulled herself inward. She didn't even notice that Ezio had moved until he was standing in front of her, his hands on her bare arms, moving up and down her skin. Looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, she tried to mold her expression into something unafraid. She failed.

"How are you?" he asked, gripping her shoulders.

"I've been better," she said, taking a step forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. In response, he wrapped his arms around her upper back, pulling her even closer.

"This artifact… it is frightening…"

"It is powerful."

"And that frightens you."

It wasn't a question so Margherita didn't respond. Instead she buried her face deeper. There was a moment when all she wanted to do was stay there, safe and warm, and then she remembered how she had thought she was going back to the 21st century. She'd been frightened of that… It wasn't until that moment that she realized just how scared she was of leaving this place, leaving this time. It was her home. And one day she'd marry Ezio and be an Auditore and grow old with him, and change the world with Leonardo and meddle with the minds of lesser men with Rosa. That was her happiness.

Finally, she pulled back and glanced at the Apple. "It looks so harmless," she commented.

Ezio retracted his hands and made his way to the Apple. Margherita followed, softly, observing it over his shoulder. As his hand reached out to touch it, her own hand shot out to pull him back. "Don't touch it," she exclaimed.

The assassin glanced over his shoulder at her. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't want you to touch it."

"I need to put it in my pouch. It's not safe out here in the open."

"I don't care. Just don't touch it."

Turning completely around, he observed her with furrowed brows. "Have you seen this before? Or is this just a feeling?"

"It's a – it's, I don't know what it is. Just please don't touch it."

"I'm going to need to touch it eventually, Margherita, when I transport it to Forli," he explained.

"Not necessarily, you could use a stick or something and roll it into a bag," she suggested.

When Ezio made no other claims, Margherita sighed, glanced at that stupid Apple one more time before walking towards the staircase. "I'm going to bed," she said over her shoulder and when Ezio didn't respond she glanced at him.

He was still staring at the Apple. Then, he sighed and his eyes flickered to Margherita for a second. She knew instantly what that idiot was about to do. His hand shot back out and grabbed the Apple, obviously thinking she was crazy. And she probably was. But with swiftness she didn't know she possessed, she stumbled back to him and tripped.

Margherita tripped and fell and grabbed onto the only thing she could reach – the Apple in Ezio's hand.

Her fingers flew around the golden orb and Ezio jerked downwards at the added weight.

She was falling, falling, falling.

Down, down, down.

There wasn't anything in sight, she realized, suddenly.

It was bright, everything was bright. The same yellow-white light that had plagued the walls of the workshop earlier wormed its way into her vision and everything disappeared. Her stomach yanked out from under her, coiling around and around and around. The orb in her hands was cold in her grasp and she could have cried and she flew and flew and flew and suddenly there was coolness all along her back and she opened her eyes.

Green, and blue and white. Leaves suspended in the air above her, swaying in the breeze. That was what she saw. A sliver of sunlight shot down to play on her face, and the grass underneath her made a nice pillow. She breathed deeply, trying to catch onto some semblance of normalcy. A blur of white caught her eye and she glanced at the one familiar thing in her sight – Ezio was laying face down next to her with his arm stretched across her stomach. So that was the added weight… He was oddly still, but maybe that was to be expected. Margherita was more experienced with going back and forth between the realms, however impossible it was for her to imagine having experience in such things.

Sitting up, she watched as Ezio shifted next to her. Margherita ran a hand down his back to wake him up fully. Groaning, he tensed his arm around her, pulling her closer. "I'm cold," he mumbled. "Tomorrow night, we should close the window before we turn in."

"Ezio, you need to wake up," she whispered, running her hand up and down his back again.

"I am awake, you shrew," he shifted closer.

"You need to look at me, Ezio."

Something in her voice seemed to hit a cord with the assassin. He instantly shot up, finding her eyes and furrowing his brow in a silent plea for her to tell him what was so important. It seemed he had sat up a wee bit too quickly however, as he raised his palm to the side of his face, hit with vertigo for the moment. Some dry grass had wormed it's way into his hair and she reached out to pull it from his ponytail.

And then she paused.

Her fingerless glove was absent, but she remembered not replacing it that night. What really caught her attention was the lack of scar. That puffy pink blotch was missing entirely from her palm and she could only stare at it.

Ezio recovered and found Margherita's focus. He grasped her hand and pulled it under his own gaze. "It couldn't have healed that quickly," he said.

Without meeting his gawk, she brought her hand to her chest, cradling it and staring down at the forest ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Ezio was observing her face with something akin to wonder. He quickly crawled closer to her and tilted her chin up with a finger. Margherita allowed her head to be moved back and forth, up and down. Finally, she met his eyes. Ezio was amazed.

"You… you look so different," he began. Trailing his fingers through her hair, he continued, "Your hair is far shorter than it used to be… it's as short as when we first met." Then he traced down her forehead, to her cheek, to her chin. "You don't have as many freckles… And your acne's back." Suddenly he pulled away, "Do I look any different?"

"No," she glanced over him. The same Ezio she remembered: his chin stubbly because he couldn't be bothered to shave regularly, his bright eyes sparkling, his brown hair falling into his face without the hood to keep it back. His assassin's rooms were just as pristine as before and she smoothed the creases in his sleeves. This caused Ezio to look down at himself before glancing back at Margherita. His eyes only grew.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

Margherita looked down as well. When she left, she had been wearing her white nightgown. Now, she was wearing her blue math team t-shirt, a brown hoodie, a pair of jeans and some sneakers. And then she noted the fact that her hair didn't fall forward and hang limply like it usually did. Reaching up, she verified what Ezio had said… her hair was much shorter than it had been… all the way up to her chin.

She was wearing what she had been the day she had arrived in the other realm.

Jumping from a sitting position into a kneeling one, she searched the foliage for that stupid artifact. It all made sense. She was back home, Ezio was with her, and she was in the forest she had been in before. Now, she needed to find that stupid orb and get the hell back, back, back to where she belonged and Ezio would come with her. At least she had Ezio with her, thank God. Of all the things to happen, at least she hadn't returned alone… sure, now she had to deal with that whole can of worms, but she wasn't alone.

Ezio reached out to still her searching hands. "Margherita, what's going on?"

Lifting her gaze, she finally stopped. Ezio had no idea what was going on, she realized. Nothing was different for him… she looked different, but they were in a forested area. Renaissance Italy had quite a lot of forests; surely nothing seemed terribly out of place for the assassin, just Margherita's mild transformation. When she didn't respond, he asked again, "What's going on? What are you looking for?"

Margherita paused, before, "The Apple. Where did it go?"

This seemed to finally occur to him – that the Apple was no longer in her hands or his, and that wherever they were and however she looked wouldn't change until they had reclaimed the golden treasure. So, he joined in and the two scoured the surrounding vegetation only to come up empty-handed. Of course. Because, Margherita decided, life was never that fair, now was it?

"Where could it have gone?" Ezio asked, standing and circling the grass, the bushes off to their right and the climbing tree roots that branched off and off and off.

"I don't know," she replied.

"Alright," the assassin took a moment to think. "The Apple disappeared somewhere and we are in an unfamiliar forest. The best course of action would be to pick a direction and head that way until we stumble on something we recognize."

Ezio leaned over and extended a hand to her, assisting her in standing. She accepted gratefully, nearly tripping once she was on her feet. It appeared she had become so accustomed to wearing the dainty little slippers of Renaissance Italy that her sneakers were unfamiliar to her.

"Which way?" she asked.

"East," Ezio pointed towards the horizon.

And the two set off.

Margherita managed to stumble over more roots than she could count, but she figured it wasn't her fault. Not only were her shoes slowing her down, but her mind was burdened with too many things to think about. She didn't know how big this forest was, but eventually they would stumble on something _she_ recognized… like a campsite fully equipped with tents, cars, and modern day people who would gawk at the weird dude dressed in white and carrying several weapons. But honestly, what could she do? What could she say? How exactly does one bring up that kind of a conversation, even now? Really? Really? She didn't even know where to begin.

But Margherita didn't have to wait long for an opportunity. Eventually, Ezio paused, his hand in Margherita's as he dragged her along behind him. While she couldn't hear it yet, the assassin cocked his head to the side and began trekking again, pulling her faster towards his destination. Finally, she heard it – the harsh and guttural sounds of what she could only assume to be cars came from the distance. She had almost forgotten what technology sounded like.

Breaking out of the dense forest, the two pulled up short to stare at the whizzing cars as they drove along the highway. For a moment, both were floored. Margherita stood with her mouth agape, marveling. There had been a time when she had thought she'd never see something like this again… and then there had been a time she wished she would never see something like this again. Finally, she broke out of her trance and turned to witness Ezio's bewilderment.

The assassin had loosened his hold on her wrist and his eyes were wider than she had ever seen them. He looked scared, mostly. With his hood down, she could see clearly the new paleness of his skin and the cold sweat that had broken out on his forehead. For the man would could overcome any obstacle, penetrate the most heavily guarded palazzos, and kill the most powerful men in Italy… this was nothing he was prepared to deal with.

"My God…" he whispered in a short breath. "What is this place?"

Margherita felt her stomach drop low, low, low. Then her chest hallowed out. And then she knew it was now or never and she said, "America."

Turning his neck with painful slowness, he looked down at her, "What?"

Finally, she looked him straight in the face, "I'm home," she said.

This only served to confuse him more. "What do you mean?"

Another deep breath and she decided that she might as well start somewhere and maybe once those first words came out of her mouth, she'd be able to continue and maybe he'd understand. "Do you remember when you asked me about my home? Where I lived, how I came to arrive in Italy and if I had anyone missing me?" She didn't wait for him to affirm or deny this, continuing on with, "You also asked me if I had seen the Apple before… The truth is, I had."

"Margherita, I don't understand."

She gave one last deep breath and tried to figure out how exactly to go about this all. So, she started with the simplest and probably most shocking thing. "I'm pretty sure," she began, "that we are currently in the year 2010."

Ezio blinked at her, slowly. His mouth dropped open as he began to realize she was so terribly serious. "It's the year 1487, Margherita."

"No, not here it isn't."

"I don't understand." He dropped her hand and that pained her more than she could possibly say.

"That Apple is so powerful that it has abilities we've only ever dreamed of. I saw it first about ten years ago… here. I was here – well, back there, I think – where we started. I touched it and suddenly I was in the Renaissance. I don't know how exactly and I don't know why. Okay?" She paused to give him time to adjust. Ezio's face remained just as it always had, however, wide and confused…

Slowly, his mouth closed. Before it reopened and he asked, "Where is the Renaissance?"

History lesson, she could do that, you know, simple enough. "The Renaissance is the name for the time period you're from. It means "rebirth" because it saw culture and art bloom again in Europe after the Dark Ages. It took place during the 1400's, 1500's and slight 1600's… I think."

She thought maybe he was getting it, before, "But… those years haven't happened yet."

"For me, they have."

"Margherita, you aren't making any sense!"

"The Apple can transport people through time – through realms, even, Ezio!" she exclaimed. "That's what happened to me. I was here," she gestured to the ground. "Then I was there," she flung her hand to the side. "We were there, and now we are here. Do you understand?"

"No," he replied shortly.

Groaning in frustration, she grasped at her head, "I was born on October 24, 1992. I was raised in a nation call the United States of America." Ezio reached over, and grasped her wrists, pulling them gently from her face. When she looked up at him, she was relieved to find that he had since developed a more serene visage.

"Where is that? The United States of Americo?" Ignoring his mispronunciation in her relief that maybe he was finally comprehending everything, she pulled away and knelt in the grass, finding a patch of dirt and a stick. She drew North America.

"America is to the west, far, far, far west of Italy – like, past the ocean," she explained as she drew. "It will be rediscovered before this century is over, I mean – the fifteenth century, that is. English is spoken there, that's why I knew it. Eventually Europe will start colonizing the New World, as they call it. France will get its grip up here," she poked her stick in Canada. "Spain will get its grip down here," she gestured to Mexico. "And England will get its grip here," she showed him the middle section, swiping along the east coast for added emphasis, before remembering that he probably didn't care much about the thirteen original colonies or this little history lesson for that matter. Instead, she pointed to the very center of the drawing, "This is where I was born and raised. This is where we are right now."

Ezio gave a slow, slow nod. Suddenly, he glanced back at the highway. "And what the hell are those?"

"Those are cars, Ezio," she explained patiently. "Technology has improved so much since your time; I mean, you can't imagine. Those things are like carriages that move on their own."

The assassin continued to stare out at the highway. "Can people fly?"

If Margherita thought that it was an odd question, she didn't dare say anything. Instead she responded, "There are contraptions that look like cars but have wings and can transport people through the air."

"Right…" Ezio turned back to her. "So, how exactly did you end up… in the past?"

"The Apple," she explained. "I was walking out here and I think I tripped… I saw something gold and I touched it. Then, I woke up on the streets of Italy."

"So, the Apple brought you here?"

"There – Ezio, there. We aren't in Italy anymore. We're in America."

"Right, right, you said that. I just can't wrap my head around it. Give me a minute," he sighed and rubbed his temples. "Once again, for my sake, where exactly are we?"

"The United States of America, in the year 2010."

He was silent for a good long time. Finally he asked, "Did you know this was going to happen?"

"When you touched the Apple? No, I didn't know for sure, I just…"

"But you knew what this could do? You knew what the Apple was from the moment you saw in back in that alleyway and you knew what it was capable of. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew what it did to me, Ezio. I didn't know what it could or would do to you. You're so strong, I thought maybe you'd be immune. And you were… it's me who gets jerked back and forth like this."

Silence descended on the two. Margherita grabbed fistfuls of grass and ripped it from the earth. Finally, Ezio spoke again. "Why didn't you tell me? About everything?"

There were so many answers to that… but she chose the most honest one. "I… didn't think you'd believe me."

"That's bullshit," he snapped. And for a second, Margherita was taken aback by his tone. "I trust you and you know that."

She ignored, for the moment, the fact that he had used the present tense when describing his trust in her. Instead, she focused on her disbelief and indignation. "So, if I had come to you saying "I'm from the future" you'd think I was perfectly sane?"

"It probably would have taken me some time to digest it all… It's taking me quite some time right now, in fact."

Suddenly, she had to ask, "But you do believe me, right?"

Ezio stared her right in the face. "Margherita, we moved from Leonardo's workshop to this forest – there are metal machines speeding down there," he pointed to the highway. "I think I can suspend my skepticism for a moment and accept that we might have gone to the future."

"Okay," she breathed, sagging in the grass.

"Okay," Ezio echoed, far more sternly.

"So… what now?" she was almost afraid to ask.

"First, we need to find that Apple.'

Margherita thought for a moment. He wasn't going to like what she was about to say… "I don't think it's here."

"Where's here, Margherita?" he asked as he crossed his arms. "There have been many, many "heres" discussed today."

"This area, when I woke up in Italy, the Apple was no where to be seen. It didn't reappear until Borgia showed up with it."

"Shit," he cursed. He began to pace.

She ventured out again with a small suggestion, "Maybe the best thing to do right now is to find some way to live here for awhile…"

Ezio turned violently towards her. "Why?" he asked. He probably didn't mean to sound snappish, but Margherita was still hurt. His gaze softened, though when he noticed her flinch. This gave her the strength to explain.

"I was in Italy for ten years before I got back to here. The same could be true for you – you could end up living in the twenty-first century for a decade before getting back to Italy."

"So what? I'm supposed to sit around on my ass and do nothing for a decade?" His arms dropped from their crossed position over his chest. "I can't waste ten years, Margherita!"

Ezio's words and harsh tone managed to pull something in her heart. She glanced down, discontented… only for her gaze to land on her newly unmarked palm. Giving first slow, wide shakes of her head, they soon grew faster and shorter in length. Her eyes met his again. "I don't think it'll be wasted," she explained. "I look the exact same as I did on the day I left… we're in the same place I left and I'm willing to bet it's the same time of day." She glanced up at the sky and squinted her eyes in memory, "Yeah, afternoon. It was afternoon…" She suddenly came back to reality, "So the same could be true for you."

He thought on this for a moment and apparently deemed it satisfactory because he nodded, "Then what do you suggest?"

"We need transportation," she pushed herself up, attempting to stand and Ezio was immediately by her side, helping her up. "I drove that day," she reminisced. "So my car should still be in the parking lot… but I need my keys and I'm pretty sure those were in my purse and that should be back at the campsite."

Ezio grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. "You do realize I have no idea what you're blabbering on about, correct?" And for the first time since they had gotten there, Margherita smiled.

"We need to go back that way," she pointed over his shoulder.

"So be it."

The two began walking in silence before Margherita pulled up short.

"Oh my god…" she whispered. "I haven't seen these people in a decade…"


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: There is no excuse. Really. I'm sorry.**

**Also, canon freaks, I apologize but original, non-canon characters will probably dominate the plot for a while. Hopefully plentiful helpings of Ezio will help ease the burden.**

**ALSO! Anorexia is not a joke. Nor is Margherita an anorexic. She is a vain, vain little girl and if you haven't realized that by now you're an idiot.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

"Ah, shit," Margherita swore as her heel caught the exposed root of one of the many trees circling the forest. She managed to catch herself before actually taking a tumble – partially from Ezio's lightening-quick reflexes that allowed his hand to jut out and grasp her wrist just as she lost her balance. "Thanks," she grunted, pushing a bit of fringe from her face. Damn short hair… She remembered praising Rosa once for her chopped locks, but in hindsight she wasn't all that sure she really wanted them now that she had them.

"You do know where you're going, right?" Ezio asked from behind her. It was an odd day when Margherita was the one leading the pack and the big brave assassin needed to trail after her.

"Kind of… I'll know it when I see it…" Under her breath she muttered, "If I see it."

"Is that it?"

Margherita paused her trek and glanced in the direction her lover was pointing. A dome of red pushed up from the horizon of green foliage and all Margherita could do was shrug and start moving towards it, saying, "Yeah, maybe. Let's find out, shall we?"

As they got closer, the wisps of smoke that had been impossible to see from that distance, since it blended in with the gray-blue sky, signaled a camp fire. Obviously the place was inhabited. Whether it was the campsite Margherita had disappeared from nearly a decade ago… it was impossible to tell. The two barely reached the edge of the site – where the shrubbery ended and flattened grass took its place – when Ezio once again grasped her wrist. Deftly pulling her back against him, he pressed a gloved hand to her mouth to silence her instinctive protest.

Bending to whisper in her ear, he explained, "I can hear voices…" He removed his hand and commanded in gentle tones, "Listen…"

"No one is going to help me, huh?"

"You're the girl scout, Jen. And I don't think it would be smart to give Amanda a lighter."

"Hey!"

"Yeah, I guess you're right… Maybe Peggy will help me when she gets back."

Retracting herself from Ezio's grip she turned to him, letting her eyes slide over him. "Hm," she mused, softly. "It might be best for you to wait here."

"Why?" the assassin responded in equally hushed tones.

"Because as far as they know, I just stepped out to use the … the…" Damn, Margherita couldn't think of the word for "bathroom". Actually, she had simply called a car by it's English name. Cars weren't around during the Renaissance; there was no need for a word for them. But "bathroom" had an equivalent… Deciding on a word she continued, "They think I was just using the chamberpot and now I'm returning with some dude who's wearing weird clothes."

"My clothes are quite fashionable," Ezio defended.

"Not for this time period, they aren't." Glancing back at the campsite, Margherita sighed. Finally, she placed her palm gently against the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. When she pulled away, Ezio was quick to yank her back and slide his tongue into her mouth.

_Why the sense of urgency?_ Margherita wondered, as she finally managed to disentangle herself. Brushing aside the thought, she whispered, "I'll deal with them and then find you and we can start working out a plan, okay?"

"Mm-hum," Ezio grunted, leaning down for one last kiss. Before he could take it any further (the insatiable man-whore) Margherita ducked away and stalked into the camp, steeling herself for a reunion of epic proportions.

Her abrupt entrance had three heads spin to glance at her. Emily was lounging in her little fold-out chair next to the fire Jen was attempting to light. Amanda was chugging a can of Diet Pepsi between the two. Sweet Gucci… Diet Pepsi. Margherita's self-proclaimed crack. The only thing that stopped her from stomping over to the cooler and diving in was Jen's voice, "Geez Peggy! Did ya fall in or something?"

Mid-step Margherita paused and sheepishly scratched at the back of her neck. Goodness, was it weird to not feel to long hair brush against the sensitive part of the back of her hand whenever she did that. And goodness, how odd was it to hear English spoken without any other accent besides American. It was music to her ears.

The only excuse Margherita could think of was, "I got lost."

Which was true… about five centuries lost, to be exact. The words molded in her mouth oddly. It was weird… she and Leonardo had abandoned their speaking of English when alone eons ago and this was the first time in a long time that she had been able to say something in her native tongue without people questioning her accent.

When Jen's grin only grew – her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline – Margherita pointed an accusatory finger at her, "Don't look at me like that! I found my way back, didn't I?"

From her place, feet kicked up and totally relaxed, Emily scoffed, "After you circled the entire forest twice, am I right? Psh, this is why no one wanted to drive with you – you have no sense of direction."

"I wanted to drive with you!" Amanda piped up. "But you told me there was a height limit and I was too short! It was like Six Flags all over again," she pouted.

Margherita looked from one friend, to the next, to the next. Damn, she had missed these people. Jen, the handy-dandy, easy-going and totally butch blonde… Emily, the sarcastic bookworm/germ-phobe with an elitist attitude (even if she'd be loath to admit it) but a big heart… Amanda, the short, stout girl with hair more twisted and curly than her sense of humor… these were her best friends and God, how she had missed them. And how quickly they had all fallen back into friendship. It was as though Margherita had never left. In fact, if she hadn't just had his tongue in her mouth and his lips pressed against hers, Margherita would have believed Ezio to be a figment of her imagination.

Clenching her fist, Margherita glanced down at her unblemished palm. Maybe it had all been a dream?

Twisting around, her eyes quickly scanned the forest's edge, searching, searching, and searching for a flash of white amid the green.

Her vision was blocked as Jen came to stand beside her, swinging an arm across her shoulders. Margherita allowed herself to be guided closer to the now festering campfire. Emily had a large tome of T.S. Eliot on her lap, opened to a page that was printed with evenly spaced and bolded type. Yeah, nearly all of Margherita's volumes at home – at Leonardo's workshop – had been crafted via printing press… but it wasn't an exact science and often words were blotched or oddly cramped in some places. It was refreshing to see recent literature with clear details. She could also go for that Diet Pepsi.

Margherita reached into the cooler and yanked a frosty can out. That cooler had been a bitch to carry at the time, as she remembered, but damn was she glad they had it now. Emily barely glanced up from her book as she nonchalantly said, "You haven't asked for your phone back."

Cracking the top of the can with a soft _sh-pop_, Margherita let the words spring forth with minimal effort as it appeared she had no problem falling back into the routine of their old verbal sparring, "That's because I know that even if I ask nicely and put a cherry on top, you won't give it back to me. You've probably hidden it in the forest."

Emily's only response was to stick her tongue out at Margherita and return to her book.

Shrugging, she brought the opening of the can up to her nose and sniffed the little carbonated bubbles, before tipping her head back and taking a huge gulp. As the caramel-y liquid slid against her taste-buds Margherita almost gave a low moan of ecstasy. As it was, Amanda still bounced up next to her and her curls bounced right along with her, and she said, "You look like you're having an orgasm. And you take too long to pee!"

Glancing down at the short girl, Margherita raised her eyebrows and ignored Emily as she snorted behind her book. Even Jen gave a short laugh from her place kneeled next to the fire, trying to stoke it into a legitimate blaze.

"Oh, shove it, Hobbit," Margherita retorted. The shorted girl pulled a pained expression before giving a loud, exaggerated huff and stalked to the other side of the campsite, crossing her puny arms across her busty chest all the while.

"Aw, Pegs, you hurt her feelings," Jen came to stand next to Margherita, the stick she had been using to encourage the fire still in her hand and lit into a small blaze on the end she held up.

"Put that out before you hurt someone," Margherita chastised, clenching her palm tight for a moment. Dropping herself into a chair next to Emily, she leaned back and took another sip of her Diet Pepsi. She watched through half-opened eyes as Jen swung the stick back and forth enough to put out the blaze. Then she continued, "Hobbit will be fine, you know she's overly sensitive…" Margherita trailed off and was about to lean totally back and close her eyes when something occurred to her – she was here for a reason! She had a mission to complete!

Bolting back up, she dragged her eyes across the campsite looking for her purse. Jesus, she had too many purses to count, which one had she brought that day? Stiffly walking to a pile of bags that was on the picnic table, Margherita searched through them with one hand. Nope, none of them looked like her own. She recognized Amanda's hippy linen bag that smelled vaguely of pot… Emily's eco-friendly juice box bag…. Jen's cruddy backpack with the rainbow sticker than said, "Come out, come out, wherever you are…" but her knock-off Chanel was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," she called over her shoulder, "where's my purse?"

"You were afraid bugs would eat your Twinkies so you put it in the tent," Emily explained. Margherita had just unzipped the red tent's opening when she added, "You have a crappy memory."

"You don't know the half of it," Margherita mumbled as she stumbled into the small enclosure. And there it was – sitting right on top of her sleeping bag. Bending down, Margherita made her way over to it and haphazardly stuck her hand in. Ipod… wallet… perfume… gum… her pepper spray… some lotion… her make-up kit (thank Prada and Dior, respectively)… and… Twinkies… Why the fuck did she have Twinkies in her purse?

_No wonder I was a fat seventeen year old…_ she mused as her fingers finally grasped her car keys. Another startling thought occurred to her. Fuck! She dropped the keys back into the purse and pulled herself into a standing position. Looking down, she splayed her hands over her midsection. Agh! Fuck, fuck, fuck! The baby-fat stomach she had had as a teenager was back on this body.

_Diet. Immediately. Starting right now I refuse to eat. Oh God, I hope Ezio doesn't notice. What if he never wants to touch me again? Ew, ew, ew!_

Allowing herself a moment to steady her breathing, she sucked in a great deal and was only half pleased with the results. Oh well, she decided. At least her tits were still half-decent. Wrenching the keys free one last time, she frowned despite the triumphant jingle and stumbled back out of the tent.

She addressed the group, "I've got to go."

"Where?" was the immediate question from Jen. Stupid busy-body.

"Home," Margherita responded with forced nonchalance as she swung her purse over her shoulder.

"Why?" Amanda suddenly appeared right next to her. Damn crazy short people…

"I forgot something and my mom tex –," Margherita shut off her mouth instantly. She didn't have her phone. If her mother texted her something, she wouldn't know about it, now would she? To cover up her blunder she added, "I'll be back." And then she winced inwardly. When she didn't show up again that would be another cluster fuck she didn't want to have to deal with.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Amanda smiled a knowing smile. "If you need tampons, I've got plenty.'

Margherita could only stare down at the little midget girl… before a grin split her face and a laugh burst forward. Wiping tears, she realized just how much she had missed these people. Brushing the hand off, Margherita explained, "No, no, no. I'm just being a worry wart and I think I left my computer on, so of course I have to go home and check."

"You're paranoid," Emily said.

"Yes, yes I am," Margherita agreed, yanking her purse up even farther on to her shoulder. She twisted and began marching towards the main road that would eventually connect to the parking lot… according to the sign posted just outside their campsite.

"Hey!"

"What now, Emily?" the blonde turned back around just in time to see the bookworm wiggle out a phone from her pocket.

"Your phone!" she yanked her arm back, aiming for Margherita.

"Don't throw it!" she instantly responded, taking several steps back towards the camp in some attempt at lessening the distance between the two and possibly sparing her delicate and lovely little cell phone.

"Oh my God," Jen huffed, strutting past Emily and grabbing the phone from her grasp at the same time. With long steps she reached Margherita with ease. "Here," she extended the piece of technology and Margherita took it gratefully.

"Thanks," she muttered, replacing it in her purse. Raising her voice a smidge louder she added, "It's good to know some people have manners!"

Both of them turned to look at Emily, who pointedly ignored them in favor of returning to her book and the awesome poems within.

Margherita was just about to give her fellow blonde a quick nod of further appreciation and continue her journey when Jen asked, "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah…why?"

"I don't know… you just seem different, you know?" Jen tried to explain. Margherita nearly said something along the lines of "yeah, I most definitely know" but bit her lip again. Jen continued, "You aren't angry are you? About the whole taking-your-phone thing, right? You know I was just joking, yeah?"

"Jen, it's all good. I forgot something and I need to go check it out."

"If you're sure…"

"I am. Quite sure, in fact."

"Uh-huh…"

"Oh my God, Jen, whatever you have to say – just spit it out!"

"Well, I know your mom is at home –" (_She was?_ Margherita mused.) "– and I know she could just check your computer for you."

Sighing, Margherita took a deep breath and tried to put a smile on her face, "Yeah, you're right, that's a bit of a white lie but really – I've got to go and it has nothing to do with you so please don't worry, okay?"

Jen shrugged, "If you're sure…"

There was no point in dragging the confrontation out any further so Margherita simply turned back around. She was barely a few steps away when she glanced back to see Jen still standing there, watching her. "Don't worry!" Margherita called from over her shoulder, refusing to pause in her mission of getting the fuck out of there... even if she didn't necessarily want to leave. At least she had her Diet Pepsi, she amended.

Jen called after her, "It's my job!"

But Margherita barely heard it because she was almost out of earshot. Then the question became… where the fuck was Ezio?

Certain she was far enough away from her own camp to not cause suspicion, Margherita glanced around. White, white, white, where oh where was that tell-tale white?

"Looking for something?" a breezy voice sounded behind her.

She couldn't stop her reaction of jumping, twisting midair and smacking Ezio on his hard deltoid to convey her frustration. Bastard hadn't managed to do that in ages.

"Asshole," she muttered in English. And then she got a good look at him. A bundle was carried in his hands, which seemed to be his outer robes and weapons. It was a bit of improvement but the frilly blouse, tight (not that she minded) breeches and leather boots still stood out in contemporary fashion. As though he could follow her thought-process, he transferred the bundle to one hand and opened his arms wide. Giving a mini-turn he grinned as though to say, "Better?" Sighing, she spoke in Italian, "It will do for now. New clothes are a must, though."

Tilting her head, she gestured that they should continue. They were barely walking again when Ezio gestured to the can still in her hand. "What's that?"

"Soda pop," she tried to add an Italian accent to the English words. "Want some?" she asked as she held the can out to him.

He accepted it gratefully and gingerly placed his mouth over the small opening. With a slight hesitation he took his first sip. Eyes scrunched closed, it was a miracle he managed to stay at a constant pace as he gulped the rest of her beverage down. Finally, he was done and came up for air. "My God, that stuff is amazing. Do you have anymore?"

"Nope, sorry," Margherita took the empty can from him, momentarily mourning her lost Diet Pepsi. Her grief didn't last long.

"What's your name?"

The girl blinked for a moment. What an odd thing to ask someone you've been screwing for years now and profess to love. Hm. Oh, Margherita thought more about it. What _was_ her name? She vaguely recalled making one up when she had first found herself stranded in the Renaissance, and it was by that name that everyone knew her... at least, everyone that was from that particular time period.

"Well…" she started slowly. "I suppose, legally, my name is Margaret. Which is the English form of Margherita. But no one actually calls me that… they all call me Peggy."

"Peggy…" Ezio rolled the syllables over in his mouth for a moment, digesting the taste, the feeling, the curvature of the lettering. Quite frankly, it sounded wrong in his mouth.

Margherita recalled blessed nights squirming underneath him and listening to his soft mantra of "Margherita, Margherita, Margherita" over and over and over again. Her name. The word he called out at orgasm, the epitaph he whispered in the dead of night, the utterance that made his lips form a certain way – so uniquely that she could recognize when he mouthed her name in his sleep.

"I don't like it," he decided out loud.

"Good," she responded, "I don't like you saying it. Anything except "Margherita" sounds wrong coming from you."

Ezio didn't respond, he simply shifted his burden and kept on walking. What an odd conversation, Margherita decided as they continued. Honestly? Of all the things to bring up, and here, now especially…

Hang on…

"Why all this so suddenly?" she demanded, pausing mid-step.

Ezio blinked down at her, "Well, I just heard you guys talking and they weren't calling you "Margherita" so I was a little confused."

"Oh," she deflated and kept walking… only to stop again. "How did you know they weren't calling me "Margherita"? We were speaking English."

"I know that…" She stared up at him and he simply responded with a deadpan expression until his face cracked and he smiled. "Leonardo has been teaching me English for a little less than two years now. I don't know a lot, because our lessons were always confined to whenever I would be over visiting and you were busy. It was supposed to be a surprise." He shrugged and gestured that they should get going. "I didn't understand most of that little exchange but I could tell from your speech pattern when someone was saying a name. There was an Emily, a Jen and a…"

"Amanda," she finished for him. His heavy accent on their names gave them a rough romantic twinge. Margherita switched to English and asked, "How much do you know?"

"Er –" Ezio could only stare at her with a blank look.

Yeah, that phrase was a little complicated and was bordering on an idiom so she tried to clarify in slow, elongated syllables, "How much English have you learned?"

She could see the understanding wash over his face, "Oh, a little." God, if him speaking Italian hadn't been absolutely sexy to her American ears, listening to him speaking English with his rough Italian accent did things to her body that she couldn't describe.

"Well," she coughed twice and returned to Italian, "consider this your total immersion."

Margherita would have continued, but they both caught sight of the parking lot and Ezio's attention was riveted to the scene of all the metal contraptions lined up neatly. While Margherita was more concerned about people watching the odd duo cross the parking lot, Ezio increased his pace and stopped up short right in front of the car nearest them. It was a minivan with more than a few dents in it. Reaching out a hesitant hand, Ezio stroked the hood.

"These are those things we saw earlier, right? The chariots that move on their own?"

"Yup," Margherita lightly grasped his wrist to guide him away from the minivan that definitely belonged to someone else.

"Do you own one of them?"

"Yup," she repeated and stopped in front of her Baby. The little Toyota Corolla smiled up at her in it's own car-smiling-way and Margherita returned the grin. Baby had been a gift for her sixteenth birthday and even if she was used and a 1999 model, dear Dior, she was Margherita's Baby and Margherita loved her more than words could say. "This is my Baby," she explained.

Ezio tugged himself free and circled the car. "How does one ride this chariot?"

"You sit on the top and try to hold on for dear life while I yell "mush, mush!" over the roaring engines," she was almost tempted to say. Instead, she tried to stay patient. Yeah, she remembered first trying to cook in a kitchen with no microwave whatsoever. Sandra had been so kind to her. So, Margherita sighed and explained, "You open these doors and the motor propels the car forward. Here," she pulled out her keys, "I'll show you."

Tapping the little button on her keys, the car gave a loud beep and the locks sprung open. Ezio sprung back and into a defensive position, a sword suddenly brandished in his hand. When all Margherita did was stand and stare at him, he lowered his weapon. Giving the dude a subtle nod, Margherita walked over to the drivers side door, opened it and sat down.

"Get in the other door," she explained.

Ezio sheathed his sword and stopped in front of the passenger door. "Uh," he bent to look at her through the window and so Margherita slid over and popped the door open from the inside. As it swung open, Ezio stared in amazement.

"Dude, just get in the car," she snapped, with no real malice.

The assassin swung himself into the seat and then became fixated on the dashboard. When his hand reached out to start touching the buttons, Margherita finally groaned and grasped his wrist, pushing it back to his lap. Then, she threw her purse into his lap as well and closed her door. "Close your door," she commanded.

"Like this?" Ezio grasped at the handle feebly and yanked it closed gently.

Margherita checked her dashboard, and behold, the little door-open icon was lit up. "No," she said, "open it back up and close it again. Harder this time."

The car managed to shake from the intensity of his force but she didn't dwell too long on it. Instead, she leaned back in her seat and tried to remember how to get home from here. When she couldn't, she reached over, into her purse and pulled out her phone. Yup, she had had to us the GPS going there and so it was still plugged into the phone. Pressing "Reverse directions" the map formed and she prepared to leave.

"Put the keys in the ignition," she explained as the car roared to life. "It turns on, then you put the car in gear," she switched to reverse.

Ezio only scrunched his eyes at Margherita's actions. "Yeah, but how does it work?"

"Like this," Margherita gestured to the steering wheel before glancing backwards to make sure no one was pulling out behind them.

"It's as simple as that?"

She paused and looked at the perplexed assassin. "Dude, I don't know all the mechanics involved. I just drive this thing. Geez," she took her foot off the break, "you sound like Leonardo."

Ezio had no chance to respond, as he attempted to clutch at anything he could, the dashboard, the door and the seat. It appeared the moving vehicle had startled him. Laughing under her breath, Margherita pulled out and began to exit the parking lot. It seemed that driving a car was like riding a bike – even if you disappeared for about a decade and then return, you can still ride like no time had lapsed.

Pausing at the stop sign just before the highway, Margherita reached over and grabbed her cell phone, still pulled up to the GPS screen.

"What's that?" Ezio asked.

"My cell phone. It's a method of communication here. Everyone else has one and by putting in each unique number you can talk to them instantly through the little speaker thing," she explained, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"Right…"

Silence lapped between them for a moment as she tried to focus on driving and the directions that were popping up on her phone and as he glanced around the interior of the car and the road before them. Minute noises caught her ears and Margherita glanced over to find Ezio shuffling through her bag. "What are you doing in there, Ezio?" Margherita asked.

"Looking for other things to annoy you with," was the slick answer. Ouch, apparently she was as transparent as she tried not to be. "Is this food?" Ezio pulled a Twinkie out.

"Yup, you can have it if you want. I've sworn off eating until I'm not fat anymore."

Ezio glanced as her as he wrenched the wrapper off the Twinkie. "You're not fat." He put the Twinkie up to his mouth and darted his tongue out to taste it. Deciding it wasn't terrible, he popped it into his mouth and around the sugary food he continued, "You're just really insecure." She didn't even bother to respond, nor would she have had a chance to as Ezio asked, "Where are we going?"

Pausing to think, she began, "Well, I'm not quite sure. Apparently my mom is still at home so we can't go back there without making things terribly complicated. As far as she knows, though, I'm camping with my friends. So I have the next two nights free." She gave him another look-over before turning her attention back to the road. "You need new clothes. And a place to stay. Possibly long-term employment." Biting her lip she continued, "Maybe a hotel would work? I have some money in my account… or… oh! I've got it!"

The poor Renaissance passenger barely had time to grab the dashboard in a vice grip before Margherita twisted the steering wheel in a complete circle and pulled an absolutely illegal U-turn on the (thankfully deserted) highway. When his heart started beating again he asked, "What… have you… got?"

"My family's vacation home! We have this little apartment near Lake Michigan with a beautiful view but we only use it during Christmas so no one's there right now. We can set up shop and no one will be the wiser! Perfect!" With one hand on the steering wheel and one eye on the road, she punched the new address into the GPS and relaxed back against the seat. It was about half an hour away but it was something, wasn't it?

* * *

"Is it your boyfriend's birthday, dearest?"

Margherita glanced up at the elderly cashier before she swiped her debit card. Ezio had been left back the apartment with explicit instructions not to touch anything, while she had just stopped in to pick up a few essentials. Why the cashier thought underwear, socks, a pair of sneakers, a pair of jeans, two t-shirts, a hat, a toothbrush, tooth paste, a razor, shaving cream, shampoo, conditioner, a box of Twinkies and a six pack of Diet Pepsi would be code for "boyfriend's birthday" Margherita hadn't a clue… well, maybe it was the box of condoms she had also added.

It had occurred to her that time travelling was unlike to cut off their already frequent lovemaking and since this body didn't have Queen Anne's Lace keeping her from getting pregnant, Margherita had decided that maybe it was time to show Ezio how to covered his glove.

"Um, sort of," she tried to smile at the older woman. When the cashier scanned the condoms and gave Margherita a little wink, the blonde tried not to blush.

_Jesus, I'm a full grown woman – nearing thirty – I shouldn't be this embarrassed._

Nodding her head in thanks, Margherita grabbed her bags, replaced them in the cart, unloaded them in the car and left.

Ezio was kind enough to help her unload the car and put things back in the proper places in the bare cabinets. Finally, the two ended up on the coach eating Twinkies and drinking Diet Pepsi. The assassin had managed to figure out the TV with surprising ease – excepting the fact that he hadn't realized there was more than one channel… something Margherita had had to show him once she got home. Even then, he chose to stay on the same channel. They were watching the news and Ezio didn't attempt to ask her to clarify anything even though it was all in English. She figured he was busy watching the pictures move.

"I checked my balance," she explained as she finally sat up. When all he did was make a noise of half-understanding, she clarified, "I checked how much money I have in the bank. You certainly can't live off Twinkies and Diet Pepsi and groceries cost money. I have about five hundred dollars still in the bank on my own, and I might be able to swipe some money from my parents account." She sighed and leaned against him. "I'd say you need to get a job, but you can't speak English."

"I am learning."

She smiled, "Yes, yes you are."

"I am also very strong. And I'm good with numbers."

"I'll ask around, then. Look for some employment for you. And myself. It might take two incomes to keep this place up. And we need a cover story."

"A cover story?"

"Yeah, for how we met. I can't just bring you home to meet the parents tomorrow and say, "Hey, this is my boyfriend, we've only known each other for a few days". But I figure I can come visit you as often as possible without rising suspicion and in a few weeks you can meet my family."

Ezio sighed and wrapped his arm around her, "You are predicting we will be here for a good long while, aren't you?"

"I never expected to return home soon, when I was in the past," she explained. "And I stayed there was ten years. I think like it or not, we're stuck here for at least a little bit and if we aren't, then it doesn't hurt to prepare, right?"

His lips pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of her head. "So, how did we meet?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Hey, I'm on time! Be happy!**

**Wow, I was not expecting people to want them back home so badly. I'm kinda enjoying this time period, though. So I guess we'll just have to see what happens, hm? Hm? Hm? Yeah. Good stuff.**

**Thanks Ubisoft, for messing with my plot. Agh, Cristina Vespucci. What am I going to do with you? Actually, I know what I'm going to do with you. And I'm going to have fun doing it to you.**

**

* * *

**

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

"Dear Lord you are going to love, love, love these lovely little bits of paradise!" Margherita announced as she smashed open the door and allowed herself into the room. In her arms were bags of steaming who-knew-what that left a glorious odor in their wake. "Chinese food is the absolute best. I mean, if you Italians thought you had the cornerstone on fine cuisine, the Chinese certainly took it, perfected it, turned it around, and handed it back to you wrapped up in a lovely little carton of amazingness."

Plopping the bags down onto the counter she barely glanced at the assassin as she pulled her favorite carton of egg rolls free. It wasn't until she had stuffed her chopsticks into the box and yanked out an egg roll that she finally turned to her Ezio.

… Who was naked. And totally unabashed by it.

The egg roll fell from Margherita's chopstick, back into the carton.

"The undergarments are uncomfortable," he explained, crossing his arms over his chest but doing nothing to hide his exposed penis.

Margherita's jaw snapped closed with a click. _Get a hold of yourself, girl. You've seen him naked _plenty_ of times before. Why is this suddenly coming as a surprise? _And then something occurred to her – hormones. As a young adult, her hormones had settled down and while her libido was still active, she wasn't exactly horny all the time. But in this body, the hormones she had never taken full advantage of were apparently back with a vengeance. She set the Chinese food container on the table beside the bags and slowly made her way into the living area where Ezio had laid out his clothing.

The silk boxers she had thought he'd like were neatly folded on the coach.

"And why exactly do you not like the undergarments?"

"They are too breezy," he responded shortly.

Margherita glanced down at his crotch. "And you don't feel breezy now?"

"I'm not wearing anything right now. But when I wear those undergarments with those – what did you call them? – oh, yes, jeans – they just don't feel right."

Nodding slowly, she picked up the dark-wash jeans she had picked out for him, "These are alright, though?"

"Yeah, nothing's wrong with the breeches, it's the undergarments." He continued to frown down at the offending pieces of fabric. Finally Margherita gave a short laugh and grabbed the boxers.

"Well, these are called boxers and they are meant to be breezy. There is also a style called briefs that… aren't really breezy. I'll be certain to run out tomorrow but…" she smirked, "I see no reason why we shouldn't take advantage of the fact that you are lacking undergarments tonight…"

Ezio caught her smirk and began to draw her closer to his body but Margherita was quick to duck around him and take off towards the food that was still steaming on the table. "Food first," she explained. "If we only eat Twinkies we'll end up fat."

When the still naked assassin attempted to follow her, Margherita scowled at him. "I can't very well eat when you're dressed like that," she accused.

He grinned and sat himself down in the chair next to her. "I'm not dressed, period."

Scowling even deeper, she huffed and picked up her carton again, "That's my point."

"What, you don't like it? I think it's an improvement…"

"Yeah, but you're distracting."

As she munched on her egg roll, she waited for him to pipe up again but when he remained silent she turned to glance at him. It appeared he was having trouble using his chopsticks. Ezio had been smart enough to mimic her own positioning of the utensils but didn't have the same level of experience that Margherita possessed. She bent over to grasp his chopsticks and reposition them gently.

"You could just feed me yourself, you know. Save me the trouble," Ezio smirked down at her from his position of supposed superiority as she was preoccupied by the chopsticks. Suddenly, something warm was pressed against her lips. At first she thought he was just being vulgar and it was a certain part of his anatomy but when she glanced down, she realized it was an egg roll. Forgoing the utensils, Ezio held the piece of bliss against her closed mouth waiting for her to accept his gift.

How… sweet, Margherita realized, startled. She glanced up at him and retained eye contact as she came to a decision.

Without straightening herself, she gingerly opened her mouth and allowed her lover to slide the egg roll into her waiting cavern gently. Taking part of it in between her teeth, she bit into it and chewed slowly. Her eyes never left his.

He gave a great sigh and said, "You do realize we'll have to postpone dinner now, don't you?"

"Hm?" she hummed around her food.

"With that little stunt, you've managed to start something only you can stop…" he trailed off and glanced downwards.

She followed his gaze. Oh. Oops.

It seemed eating an egg roll was somewhat similar to fellatio… especially from this position. Or, at the very least, it provoked images of a blow job in the mind of her lover and caused a bit of erection. For some reason, Margherita couldn't allow herself to feel too guilty about the whole thing, as she saw no reason why this was a bad thing. They had a microwave and maybe she wasn't as hungry as she had thought she was. Smirking, she pushed his hand away and bent even farther over.

Letting her tongue slide over the still semi-soft flesh of his penis, she brought a hand up to coddle his balls.

Ezio let out a groan and leaned further back in his chair. After a few more exploratory licks, he asked, "Can you put it all in?"

Good question, Margherita mused as she grabbed his erection by the base and positioned it towards her mouth. The first time they had ventured into this particular aspect of lovemaking, she had had a difficult fitting him all in. Not only did it require her jaw to expand a wee bit more than it was used to, but she had yet to train her gag reflex and while Ezio was a little wider than average, his length made it much more difficult. Eventually she had been able to fit him in entirely, but it had taken some work.

Taking the head in slightly, she swished her tongue around it and then braced herself. As though sensing her hesitation, Ezio placed a comforting hand on the back of her head and waited the few seconds it took for her to finally slide him into her mouth. Halfway down, she felt a tickling in the back of her throat and pulled back. But she took this as a challenge. She went back down, and it wasn't until her nose brushed his untamed pubic hair that she felt it okay to slide back up again.

Quickly, she picked up her normal tempo and would have allowed herself to play with is balls at the same time, but she didn't want him to orgasm too quickly. She had plans for him and had no intention of wasting this so easily.

She was just sliding back up when Ezio's hand guided her fully off. "Bed, now," was all he said before he stood and slid the chair back. He helped her to her feet but apparently forgot his earlier words as he pulled her against him. She almost protested, not wanting her saliva or his pre-cum on her jeans or t-shirt (how the heck would she explain _that_ one to her parents) but couldn't as Ezio dipped down to drag his tongue across her cheek. Following his movements, she latched onto his own mouth and enjoyed the way his grip tightened around her when he tasted himself on her lips. Dude was the possessive sort who liked to mark his territory.

Then he pulled away. "No, really. Bed, now," he panted. He hooked his hand around her leg and hoisted her up so that her legs were wrapped around him. His erection poked at her bottom but she didn't pay it any mind as she dipped her head into the crook of his neck to suckle the sensitive flesh right above his collarbone.

Sex for her had become a bit of a trial-and-error thing. After than first time she become a little more adventurous, initiating it sometimes but mostly letting Ezio do the work. It wasn't until both of their feelings were out in the air that she could bring herself to get on her knees and pleasure him without any provocation. Sometimes that was as far as their encounters went. Wham-bam, thank you ma'am and they went on their separate ways. Sometimes it was the opposite and Ezio would sneak up behind her to caress her into a frenzy but ask nothing in return. For some reason, though, Margherita always preferred it when they both got something out of the experience.

With swift legs, he carried her to the bedroom as she continued to pay attention to his masculine neck. Gently, he set her down on the edge of the bed and kneeled before her. Lacing his fingers into her hair, he yanked her over to suck her bottom lip into his mouth.

Against her lips he said, "Off now," as his hands tugged at the fastenings on her jeans. It seemed he was still used to her long, yielding nightgowns that could simply be lifted above her waist. Skinny jeans were another thing entirely, for the assassin. Groaning, he pulled back to get a better look at the button and zipper that obstructed his destination.

She threw her head back and laughed. "A man of few words," she quipped as she pulled back, pushed Ezio's hands away and quickly undid the fastenings. Now, this was something Ezio could do – he peeled her jeans off of her… only to come face to face with her pink panties. Margherita almost had the decency to blush. She had forgotten what underwear she had been wearing – a lacy little see-through thong that her friends had gotten her once upon a time as a gag gift. Nothing else had been clean. The assassin was apparently floored by the small scrap of clothing.

"You slut," he finally managed, before the panties fell beside their jean-brethren on the floor.

Then, his fingers moved deftly over her and she allowed herself to lay back and enjoy the attention. Ezio had never done for her what she did for him – never ventured to use his mouth to stimulate her. He had never offered and she had never bothered to ask but she couldn't say she minded… his fingers were skilled enough that the job got done, regardless.

Without removing her shirt or bra, he simply grasped her ankles, pushed them upwards, positioned himself and took a breath. Then his hips snapped forward and he completely speared her.

White hot pain shot through her core.

_Oh my God!_

From her core to her toes, then back again and up all the way to her head, a crippling ache shot through her and the discomfort was too much. "Ow, ow, ow!" she let out and pushed _hard_ on Ezio's shoulders to push him off of her and out of her.

He yielded and stood up, sliding out of her. Concern was painted across his face. "What's wrong?"

The second he was out of her, she rolled over and curled into a ball. Damn it, that had hurt like a bitch. "Fuck…" she whined.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"I don't know," she muttered into the comforter before she tried to push herself up.

Ezio was quick to assist her, his fingers barely making an indent in her flesh. Apparently he was under the impression that she was made of glass. "I thought you were ready," he explained as he sat down next to her.

She had thought so too. In fact, even now, she felt wet. Reaching down between her legs, she swiped at the liquid and glanced down at her hand. Over her right palm, right where her scar should have been, blood blossomed bright and true.

"You're bleeding!" Ezio grasped her wrist and get a better look at the blood. "Damn it, I didn't think I was rough enough to actually make you shed blood."

Bringing her hand back, she stood on shaky feet and made her way to the nightstand next to the bed. A box of tissue sat in the corner and she used one to wipe her hand and then between her legs. Ouch, still sore. Shit, it hadn't hurt that much since… since the first time when she'd been held down on the floor of the Auditore Villa and raped by that monster. Ah.

"You're right. You weren't rough…" she walked back to the bed, stopped right in front of her lover and held out her newly cleaned hand, palm up to show him her unblemished skin. "This body is seventeen years old. I was a virgin before I went to the past. It seems this body still has a maidenhead – had a maidenhead."

Taking her outstretched hand, he placed a butterfly kiss on the palm and pulled her closer. As she adjusted herself on his lap, he wrapped his arms around her and smirked, "So, after years of making love to you, I've finally taken your virginity."

Then he tried to kiss her. Margherita simply wouldn't allow it, yanking her head back and out of his reach. She scowled down at him. "Better you than _him_," she spat.

Then she tried to stand up. Ezio simply wouldn't allow it, tightening his grip around her and keeping her in his reach. With one hand he brushed some hair from her face and gave her a gentle smile.

"Yeah, better me than him. Aren't you glad that something you thought you had lost, you were able to reclaim with someone who loves you?" This time Margherita allowed him to kiss her, and she relaxed against him.

"Tell me you love me," she whispered.

"I love you," he answered and kissed her again.

Sighing, she said, "Give me a minute to catch my breath and we can get back to work."

Wincing slightly, Ezio suggested, "How about we wait to pick this back up after dinner?" Then he helped her stand up.

She glanced down at his crotch. Oh. It seemed his panic had overridden his desire as he was now quite limp. Yeah, maybe they would wait till after dinner.

* * *

Margherita pulled into her driveway two days later.

She had left Ezio with a kiss and a promise to return as soon as she could. The cabinets were stocked with food, he had been taught how to deal with the cooking appliances, and how to call her on her cell phone. She had even spent most of the day before job searching. There had been one particularly promising job at a warehouse. The supervisor was an Italian immigrant who was looking for laborers with a lot of physical strength. One look at Ezio and he was convinced the assassin was more than capable. Then the two chatted in Italian for a while, with Margherita throwing in some comments. He said he would call in a few days.

Then Margherita had stopped by the campsite to make her excuses to the girls and grab her stuff. Her friends probably didn't believe her excuse of "my grandpa is in the hospital" but as they had no proof to the contrary, there wasn't much they could do.

Locking the car door, she bounded up the stairs and walked into her living room. Through the main hallway she could see her mother cooking lunch in the kitchen. Her footsteps quickened.

"Mommy!" she couldn't help the words out of her mouth. Jesus, that woman was her idol, her inspiration, her everything. And life without her had been terrible.

Her mom barely had time to drop the spoon she had been using to stir things when Margherita threw herself into her arms. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. Her laugh resonated in the tiny kitchen as she pulled back and said, "Wow, two days in the wilderness and you're already grateful for home."

"You don't know the half of it," Margherita muttered into her mom's shoulder.

"Here," her mom wormed her way out of Margherita's grasp and shoved the spoon at her. "Help me, would you?"

Lunch was prepared quickly and soon her younger brothers came bounding up from the downstairs, bickering over something or another and her dad left his home office to come sit around the table with everyone. Even though her soup was growing cold, Margherita couldn't help but let her eyes trace over her family. The little things she had forgotten came to the front of her mind in a fierce wave – her brother Dave's cowlick, her brother Aaron's habit of pushing his hair out of his face with the back of his hand. It was all so familiar and yet so far away in her memory.

"Peg, did you look over those college pamphlets I gave you?" her dad asked, blowing some soup on his spoon to cool it.

"Um, yeah," she answered nonchalantly.

"You know the choice is all yours, but you'd probably get the best scholarships from St. Louis University," he continued after he sipped his soup.

"Okay, no problem," she replied. When her dad looked at her suspiciously she asked, "What?"

"Well, last time we discussed this, you threw a hissy fit and stomped to your room," he explained.

"Yeah, Peg," Dave quipped, "really mature."

Margherita glowered at him. Yeah, she kind of remembered that conversation, and her response to it. She had wanted to take a year off to go to community college but her dad was really pushing St. Louis since it was his alma mater. At the time she had been furious because it was her future (even if he was the one paying for it) but now she couldn't even begin to feel frustrated. She was home, with her family. Why fight now? She just wanted to bask in the life she had left behind.

Stirring her soup gently, she said, "Well, I think I've had enough time to grow up."

* * *

That night, Margherita pulled her covers back and climbed into bed, intent on quickly falling asleep. She had told her parents that she and her friends were going out for coffee and then to see a movie on the following morning… she had told her friends she was spending the day with her family. In reality, she was going to go see Ezio. Sure, in Italy, the assassin would be off for weeks at a time and so she was used to sleeping without him. But that didn't mean she didn't miss him constantly.

Unfortunately, she simply couldn't fall asleep. Restlessly, she rolled over again and again and again. The bed was too comfortable. In fact, yesterday night the bed in the master room at her family's vacation house had also been too soft… but she had been in Ezio's arms and that had been enough for her.

Finally, she grabbed her remote and turned on the television. The room flooded with light and she had to blink for a few seconds, but slowly her eyes adjusted. It was the news, but she didn't mind… perhaps Ezio was watching the same program? That idea made her feel a little better. She relaxed against her pillows and her eyes slowly closed…until –

"Ezio Auditore… how brave of you –"

Her eyes flew open.

Shit. It was the trailer for Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood.

Margherita had been so caught up in explaining the whole "yeah, we're in the future now" thing that she had totally neglected the whole "yeah… you're really only a character from a video game…" thing.

Now she really hoped he wasn't watching the same channel.

Almost as though she thought by turning off the television in her room, Ezio wouldn't see it at the vacation home, she hit the off button. Trying in vain to stop her beating heart, she pinched her eyes closed and drew a deep breath. If Ezio had been watching the news, she was in deep shit.

A half an hour passed before she was able to calm down enough to go to sleep.

* * *

The next day Margherita woke up with a splitting headache. She drowned her worry in aspirin and packed some essentials… her laptop and the charger cord. When she pulled into the driveway of the vacation home, she took a deep breath and shut the car door. She skipped up the stairs and reached the apartment. She was barely a foot away from the front door when Ezio ripped it open.

"I saw myself on the television!" he exclaimed, reaching into the hallway and pulling her into the apartment.

"What?" she asked.

"On the television! I was on the chamber pot but the television was awake and I could hear it. I heard someone say my name and then tell me I was brave for facing them alone. I left the chamber pot and saw on the television myself… only I was not clean shaven and there were other assassins." He took a deep breath. "There must still be Templars here…" he concluded.

Margherita must have looked guilty. Frowning, Ezio dipped his head to get a better look at her face. She refused to make eye-contact.

"Margherita…" he took her chin and forced her to look up, "what do you know?"

She ducked around him and walked to the living room area. Putting her laptop on the coffee table, she plugged the cord into the wall and booted up the computer. Ezio came to sit next to her in silence, sensing that this was her way of explaining everything. Once her desktop appeared, she pulled up internet explorer and opened a window to Wikipedia. Then, she hit "Italiano" and typed into the search bar "Assassin's Creed II".

Ezio leaned over the screen to get a better look. "What is a video game?"

"It's a game. It's played on the television. You press buttons and the characters follow what you tell them to."

The assassin nodded slowly. "And… the game is based off the assassin's? So there is a character with my name, based off my image?"

His eyes begged her to contradict him. She couldn't. Instead, she pulled up another window and opened Google Images. Deliberately, she typed in "Ezio Auditore da Firenze". Glancing back at him, so she knew he knew that she was talking about him, she hit the enter button.

Pictures flooded the screen and her eyes never left his face. The emotions flickered across it… confusion, shock, anger.

"That's me," he deadpanned.

"Yes."

"We didn't go just through time, did we?"

"No."

"I'm from another realm?"

"Yes."

"I'm from this video game?"

"Yes."

"When does this video game start?"

"When you're seventeen."

"You knew."

He didn't need to clarify what he was talking about. Ezio had come to the correct conclusion – Margherita had known about his father and brothers dying.

There was no way that she could make eye-contact. She simply started at the computer screen, and one of the few pictures in which Ezio wasn't wearing his hood. Margherita could remember that scene – Ezio had volunteered to try out the flying machine and he had his arms crossed, smirking with all the cockiness he possessed. His face was unmarred, save the scar on his lip and he looked so young.

With whispered tones she responded, "Yes."

On shaky feet, Ezio stood. He nearly knocked over the computer. "You knew they were going to die!" he accused. The only thing missing was a finger pointing at her.

"I tried!" she followed him up but the height difference made her feel like shit. Wounds that hadn't cut into this body opened and bled freely. Every bit of guilt she had ever experienced slid into her gut and then broke out from her stomach, leaving a gaping hole. Suddenly, tears slid down her face. "I swear, I tried! I tried to expose the Pazzi Conspiracy!"

"But you knew even before that! You must have! Why didn't you tell me?"

Suddenly she went on the defensive, "Yeah, because you could understand everything I said back then!"

"Federico's lover did!" Ezio whipped around and headed for the door.

"Sandra!" she shouted after him.

Mid-step he stopped and asked, "What?"

"Her name was Sandra!" she stomped after him. "You think you're a little confused? I was all alone! I show up in a new world, without anyone! Thank God I found the Alberti household and was able to get off the streets! I just wanted to go home and I was so scared that if I changed something I would never get home! It was supposed to happen, they were supposed to die!"

"No they weren't!" he shouted and grasped her upper arms, picking her up and off of her feet, roughly. "Don't say that! They weren't supposed to die!"

He was so scary – his face up in hers, his spit smacking her cheeks, his eyes wild. Margherita cringed back and something in his expression changed. Maybe he realized he was frightening her, maybe he realized he was on the brink of hurting her. Either way, he pushed her away.

"I tried," she whispered. "I tried to warn you… I was too late. But I did what I could…" She trailed off and clenched her right fist. His eyes followed her movements and he set his jaws.

Ezio didn't respond. Instead, he stomped to the door and threw it open.

"Tell me you love me!" she called after him.

Pausing for a moment, he turned his head towards her and tensed. Then, he hunched his shoulders and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

The noise resonated in her head.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I'm so sorry! I was busy and put this off! It's short, but it's something, right?**

**Oh, my, goodness! The snow! Honestly, thank the snow for this chapter because if I wasn't literally trapped in my house by the snow, I probably wouldn't have gotten around to this!**

**Also - to clarify: This is not the last chapter. There will be a few more before the end, don't worry.**

**Once again, sorry and please enjoy!**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

He didn't return for another three hours.

In his absence, Margherita had remained crumpled on the floor beside the couch before rising and pacing the entire length of the house six times over, each round peeking out of the door. She couldn't stop the tears the entire time. Finally, after the second hour passed without his return, she stopped and made herself some tea. It burned her throat.

Situated in the kitchen, she was idly tracing her palm in contemplation when he walked in. Ezio did not talk to her. Ezio did not look at her.

He gracefully made his way into the living room and sat on the couch. From that angle, Margherita could see nothing but the back of his head, and his shoulders – tense and taunt. She almost stood up to go to him, when his voice resonated across the room – not loudly, but with authority only a man as powerful as Ezio could have learned to project.

"I have spent so long trying to find reason in it all," he began. "I have seen the good I have done – I have seen the innocent lives saved, the guilty lives taken. And I wonder: is it because of me? Am I the common factor in it all, or would it have happened regardless? If they were still here, if they hadn't died, I often wonder what my life would have been like and what the lives of the people I've saved would have been like. Would they still have been saved if I hadn't accepted my robe? Would they be dead? Or living in misery? Would my father or Federico been able to save them, had they not been killed and therefore allowed to take their rightful place?

"And if neither my father nor Federico could have done what I have done, I wonder whether the world is better off with me alive and an assassin and them dead. I wonder if it's my _destiny_," he spit the word. "And if it's my destiny to be an assassin and kill all these men… then doesn't that mean it was my family's destiny to die? I can't accept that. People look for reasons for everything – they turn to God in hopes that their misery was not in vain, but to say that my family was meant to die so that others could be saved…"

Ezio trailed off and hunched his shoulders. "It's selfish," he whispered. "It's selfish of me… but, I imagine my life would have been so much happier. I would have lived in ignorant bliss… probably would have been a banker… probably would have married Cristina… probably would have had children by now, too. The Auditore family would still have much power in Firenze. I would be happy and carefree. I wonder often whether I would trade my life now for the life I could have had…

"But I know too much now. I have seen the evils of the world. Maybe once I could have walked away from my duties and returned to that life… but I have seen too much… I'm needed. And if I'm needed, maybe… maybe… they needed to… die, too."

He didn't continue for a good long while. The two sat in silence. Finally, Margherita assumed he had finished and so she stood. The scraping of the chair against the ground seemed to jolt him out of his trance. He sighed loudly and said, "You… you tried to help. I know that. I suppose my mother was suppose to…" he trailed off.

Margherita nodded, before remembering that he couldn't see her. She didn't really trust her voice but let out a short whisper of, "Yes."

Finally, Ezio stood. It was a sharp, quick rising and the tension in his body was still evident. With deliberateness, he turned to look at her. "That does not make what you did okay, Margherita," he stated plainly.

She winced and nodded frantically. Then she asked, sheepishly, "But you understand… right?"

"I'm trying to."

Another nod was her response, before, "Are you angry?"

"Yes. You were a coward."

Margherita should have been angry, but she couldn't even bring herself to open her mouth and try to justify her actions. She had spent most of that last decade trying to justify her inaction and knew there was no excuse. It hurt, regardless.

"Will you ever forgive me?"

"Give me some time."

* * *

Margherita gave him a week.

She hesitated in the front of the door, before gulping one last breath and turning the key in the look. When she entered the main room, Ezio was seated on the couch, bent over papers written in his own script. He glanced up at her and beckoned her forward. Grateful, Margherita closed the distance and sat next to him, observing the papers.

He stunk. But Margherita wasn't too surprised – he was still wearing his work shirt and he had sweat stains under the armpit, down his front and all on his back.

The assassin had sketched the Apple (not with the same accuracy that Leonardo could have given it) and apparently taken some notes. And if the books spread out around him were any indication, he had been trying to learn some history – or some of the future events that would transpire.

"Can you read any of it?" she asked, gesturing to the pile in front of him. He glanced up and commented,

"No, but there are pictures – maps in there that I can understand," he reached across the table and picked up an atlas. Thrusting it at her, he asked, "Is this really what the world looks like?" Margherita slid her fingers over the map of Earth.

Nodding she asked, "What is all this for?"

"I'm trying to locate the Apple."

Briefly, Margherita recalled Desmond and the fact that he was technically their contemporary… but she didn't know the basis of the realm-hopping. Did Desmond exist here as a person, or as a videogame character? Since the game was on the market, Margherita doubted the man also existed but she mentioned him anyway.

"The videogame starts with your descent," she explained. "During this time a man named Desmond is kidnapped by Templars and they use technology to try to find the Apple by exploring his lives of his ancestors… like… like watching the TV. In the game it's like the player is playing Desmond, who is following you… or Altair – your ancestor… the creator of the Codex pages. The Templars are trying to figure out where the Apple is… but I don't think he exists here."

Ezio nodded his understanding. "No," he began. "I suppose you're right… but, where is the Apple left when the game ends? I don't think it would still be at Leonardo's workshop, but if it is, I must figure out how to get back to Italy."

"I don't know where the Apple goes after the end of the game – I would assume back to the Auditore Villa."

"So, we still must cross the ocean… How long will that take?"

"Probably eight, nine hours."

"Eight or nine _hours_?"

"Yes, Ezio. Those things I mentioned before – that fly in the air, they can transport people from here to Europe very quickly. Of course, you need documentation and that might be difficult…"

"I could figure it out," he huffed.

"Ha, I don't think there are any pretty ladies you can seduce to get yourself across the ocean."

When he turned to smile down at her, she felt her heart soar. That past week she had been unable to sleep properly – constantly wondering if when she finally came back he would be gone. It was a relief to see he wasn't holding her cowardice against her.

Ezio turned back to his work for a moment before he bit his pencil and glanced at Margherita. "How does it end?"

It was the least she could give him, right? Taking a deep breath Margherita opened her mouth, trying to remember the ending – the emotional climax where Ezio let Borgia go… and then she shut it with a _click_ of her teeth.

"I… I can't," she tried to articulate.

A dark look passed over Ezio's face. "Margherita, we've been through this. You have the chance to change the past – or at least, that realm- for the better. You shouldn't hesitate."

Margherita shook her head. "No… I think… no, nothing happens. Nothing bad happens. Ezio, trust me, there is nothing to prevent."

He maintained eye-contact with her for one long second before his face cleared and he nodded. "I'm taking your word for it."

Returning to his work, he made a few more scribbles before he gave a loud sigh and put the pencil down. "This isn't working. But I can't just sit around and do nothing."

"Then let's go somewhere," Margherita offered. She pulled her cellphone out of her purse. "I'll call my mom, tell her I'm spending the night at Jen's and we can go somewhere, spend some time having fun. Where do you want to go?"

Ezio remained quiet for a while and Margherita was almost afraid that he would reject the idea because he was still mad at her and was only bearing her presence for the sake of peace. Finally, he glanced up. "There are these things I've seen on TV sometimes… they are brown and in a cup and a mouth speaks about them…"

"A mouth?" Margherita questioned, absolutely lost.

"Yes, it is a giant mouth."

All she could do was nod slowly, as though appeasing a child. When he realized she still didn't understand and was attempting to humor him, he continued, "They are edible I think and the mouth says, "Day Cu"."

"Day Cu?"

"Yes."

Margherita rolled it over in her mind… "Day Cu…"

"D.Q.!" she exclaimed. "Dairy Queen! The ice cream! You want ice cream?" she asked.

"If that's what they are, than yes."

* * *

Margherita noted that Ezio had become quite used to the car by now. He lounged idly next to her and silently observed the buildings and people they passed. When they reached the middle of town, Ezio pointed out a girl in short-shorts and tank top.

"Are those her undergarments?" he asked.

The blonde almost laughed. "No, no they are not, Ezio."

"If Claudia ever dressed like that, I would lock her in the Villa." The assassin shook his head, "This time period is so loose, so liberal. Not," he gave her a predatory grin, "that I mind." Suddenly his expression dropped into bemusement and he leaned closer to Margherita.

Out of the corner of her eye, she tried to figure out what he was staring at and still focus on the road at the same time. "What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You have paint on your face," he observed.

"It's make-up," she defended. "And I wore make-up in the past, too."

Ezio leaned back again, "But you're wearing a lot more now." He sighed and glazed out the window again.

When they reached her house, Margherita made Ezio slip into the back of the car so she could run in and tell her mom the lie she had already practiced. She also needed to pick up some pajamas so it looked like she was really spending the night at Jen's. Hopefully (assuming their relationship had finally mended) she would have no need for clothes back at the vacation home.

No one was there, apparently. So, Margherita left her mom a text message and skipped back to the car. Hopping into the drivers seat, she glanced in back and found the assassin perplexed.

Ezio had decided to kill his boredom by sifting through her purse. He had already pulled out a box and was holding one of its many contents up to the light. When he noticed she was there, he held up the little package and asked, "What's this?"

"A contraception," Margherita explained, reaching back to grab the box of condoms out of his reach. Ezio still held onto the single one.

"How does it work?" he asked, turning the condom over in his hand.

"You put it over your penis and so none of the semen gets in."

Ezio scrunched his nose, "I put this thing on?"

"Yup," she smirked. He scoffed.

"You wouldn't be able to feel anything," he muttered, handing the single condom back to her. Then he glanced at her house, "No one is home."

"Correct, how did you know that?" Margherita pulled the keys from her pocket and went to put them in the ignition... only to be interrupted when Ezio got out of the car. Clumsily, Margherita followed.

Ezio gestured to the driveway, "No moving chariots. And before you went in there was no artificial light." He smiled at her. "I want to see your house."

Margherita hesitated for only a moment before she followed him to the front door and let them both in. In much the same way as she had introduced him to the vacation home, she took him room to room and gave him the standard tour – living room, kitchen, bathroom, family room, and backyard… her bedroom. The room was not large and Margherita had decorated the walls with posters and pictures of her family and friends.

Pausing in front of a picture of Margherita with her mom and dad, Ezio commented, "You look just like them." She nodded and came to stand beside her lover.

He moved on to a group shoot of the entire family.

And he frowned.

Margherita didn't miss the change in expression.

"You look so… happy," he commented softly.

Nodding, Margherita laced her arm through his and explained, "I was. I love my family."

Ezio glanced down at her and gave a slight nod. Then the two moved on.

* * *

They found a table outside and situated themselves comfortably. The midday rush for ice cream hadn't started yet and so they two could enjoy their blizzards in peace. Despite being enthused about the treat, Ezio remained mostly silent throughout the ordering process and even now, when they were alone, he refused to comment. The quietness was unsettling for Margherita.

In some respects, she felt a shift between them… a distance unlike the one that had erupted when Ezio had learned the truth a week ago. It was uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" she finally asked.

"Maybe you shouldn't go back with me," he murmured, setting down his blizzard.

"What?" Margherita gasped. Surely he wasn't still mad? "Is this about last week?"

"No, it's just…" Ezio trailed off, frowning into the distance. "You have a family here… a life here." Glancing at her, his expression was one of trepidation… almost as though he wished for her to remain here, and he wished for her to remain with him, but couldn't decide which he preferred more.

"I have a life there, too." Shaking her head, she smashed her blizzard onto the table. "I have _you_ there!"

Whipping a hand through his hair, Ezio groaned and glanced away. Finally, when his thoughts had settled, he asked, "You would give up your family, your friends, you life here for me?"

"And for Leonardo, and for Rosa. That's my family now."

The assassin still wore a skeptical expression, but made no comment more.

When the two stood to discard their trash and return to the vacation home, Margherita paused, and grabbed Ezio's wrist. He was far from convinced, but the blonde had found her trump card.

"If you could have your father and brothers back, but me gone, would you?"

Ezio visibly hesitated and if Margherita didn't understand how much his family meant to the assassin, she would have been deeply hurt. Slowly, his eyes trailed down to her petite hand on his wrist. With a determined expression, he made eye-contact again and replied, "No, no I wouldn't."

"Then don't expect me to."

They returned home and spent the evening together.

* * *

About two weeks later the sky wept so much that the streets nearly flooded. Margherita had gotten an early dismissal from school and she knew that her lover walked to and from work. His shift should have ended, so out of the goodness of her heart, she decided to pick him up… the fact that he looked utterly sexy when he was drenched was really just an added bonus.

It seemed the assassin was late, late, late. So, she parked the car (not necessarily legally) and went in search of him. The boss smiled when he saw her and informed her in his smooth Italian that Ezio was just in the back. Thanking him, Margherita headed in that direction.

The large warehouse was scary in the dark… and when a great clap of thunder burst through the room, Margherita jumped. Everyone else had gone home apparently, as the place was quite deserted.

"Back and to the left, it's a small room," the boss had explained. Alrighty then, Margherita decided as she turned one more corner.

Ezio, Ezio, Ezio, where the fuck was that insane assassin?

At the end of the hallway there was a door… Margherita had just clasped the handle and pulled it open when another clap of thunder resonated in the room – and suddenly the one flickering light went out as the warehouse lost power.

"Ezio!" Margherita exclaimed, straining her eyes in the darkened room, searching for her lover.

The room was empty… but one source of light remained…

The Apple.

That damned object sat on the table and blinked on and off – illuminating the room one second and closing it off into darkness again the next moment.

Something in Margherita told her that it would not long continue blinking… that if she waited, if she waited any longer it would be gone, gone, gone. So she sprinted towards it. Just as she clumsily reached the table and grasped at it…

It disappeared.

And suddenly she was left alone.

Frantically, she patted the table, as though it had simply turned invisible. She checked under the table, in every corner of the room. Finally she collapsed and sobs shook her. Ezio was gone. Ezio had seen the Apple and had left without her… without saying goodbye to her.

The Apple had corrected itself and all was as it should have been in each realm, but that didn't stop Margherita from weeping on the floor until the boss found her.

* * *

"Ezio?" the question was asked softly, out of the darkness.

"Leonardo?" the assassin recognized the voice on instinct and opened his eyes. Once more, he was in the little workshop, spread out on the floor, the Apple in his hand. He looked at it suspiciously before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

The artist noted what was in his hand and clicked his tongue at the assassin, "Ezio, you shouldn't mess with that. Protecting it is our first priority."

"I know…" the assassin trailed off.

Suddenly, Leonardo looked around the workshop. "I need to speak with Margherita, do you know where she went?"

Ezio didn't even bother to glance around… he knew where she was. "She's not here anymore."

"Did she go out for something?" Leonardo asked, swiftly walking over to the door.

"No," Ezio grit out, "She's not here anymore."

There was something in his tone, something in his words that made Leonardo glance over at the young Auditore. There was something in his expression that made Leonardo's knees give out and the artist joined his friend on the ground.

"She was just here," Leonardo argued in a half-whisper.

All Ezio could do was stare at the Apple in his hand. She was in her world and he was in his. And maybe they would meet again. And maybe they wouldn't. But Ezio had seen his opportunity and taken it. He was needed here. There had been no time to get her. And maybe, it was just as well.

* * *

Life moved on.

Margherita did not go to St. Louis University, as her father wanted. She chose to attend American University in Rome. Her dad threw a fit and questioned why the colleges in the U.S. didn't appeal to her. Margherita had simply shrugged.

How could she tell him all that had happened? How could she tell him that being in Italy made her feel more at home than anywhere else in the world? How could she tell him that her dreams were plagued by a white-robed assassin and a golden apple?

How could she tell him that when she wasn't in class, she would walk the streets of Rome, hoping to see a flash of gold?

How could she tell him that over winter break, instead of returning to America, she visited Monteriggioni and cried for weeks afterward?

No, her father couldn't understand why she left home for a foreign country. Just in the same way she couldn't understand why Ezio had left her.


	21. Chapter 21

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Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

**A/N: Yeah, I'm only a day late! Hooray! I had a busy weekend, and I'm putting off studying for a test all for you people. So, be happy. And enjoy.**

**Also, there was apparently some confusion with the last chapter… No, it was not the last. I don't know when the last one is. I don't know how long this will continue (or how long I can drag it out for) but it's definitely winding down. When I do conclude it, the status will immediately be changed to "Complete".**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

Ezio perched himself on the roof of the Villa. Tomorrow he would set out in search of the missing Codex pages. With the Apple safely in Mario's office, he didn't have much to do except wait. His uncle had suggested a visit to the brothel. Ezio had simply shook his head and climbed up on the roof. He needed to clear his head.

Three years prior he had held his first love in his arms and watched her die. Cristina Vespucci was the first girl he had ever cared about and sometimes he had thought that care had faded… until he saw her again and suddenly the feelings were there again. And that last time… her blood on him, her final words…

Margherita was the first girl he had ever admitted to being in love with, but when he had held Cristina he realized he had loved her all along.

And then six years before that he had lost Margherita… yes, he had given her up willingly but he had mourned her regardless.

Maybe the brothel was a good idea.

Just as quickly as that thought entered his brain, he shot it down. Yes, he had made some visits, but they were few and far between. Ten months ago he had totally sworn off the courtesans… he ended up with one that had blonde hair and blue eyes and a few freckles up her cheeks. All he could think about was Margherita… yes, she was gone but not dead.

He had thought now that he had recovered the Apple, something would happen. Anything.

In his daydreams he pictured the Apple clenched in his hand for the first time in ages and Margherita suddenly materializing next to him.

Instead, he and the assassins had turned their backs on the mob and walked away. There was nothing special and no Margherita.

Ezio sighed, "Maybe it's time to admit she isn't coming back…"

* * *

Peggy sat perched on her apartment bed, slaving over more books. There was another stack on the floor next to her and multiple papers tossed around on the bed. She had chosen to stay in Italy even after graduating from American University. After a semester with an undeclared major, she chose Art History with a minor in Italian.

Having watched the Renaissance in progress and having learned the language already, she was able to sail through most of her classes. Despite much opposition from her parents she applied for a job at the Vatican Museum.

And she never stopped searching.

"How's it going?"

Peggy glanced up at her roommate as the other girl entered the room. Ivy was a willowy girl with brown hair that curled wildly and worked at the Museum as well. To save money they rented the apartment together. Peggy wouldn't call the girl her best friend, but she was tolerable.

"Just trying to study a little bit," Peggy explained, focusing back down on the chart in front of her.

"Another map?" Ivy inquired.

"Another map."

"Well," Ivy hung up her coat on the hook on the other side of the door, before she sat down at her own desk. "Just don't be late for your date tonight."

"I won't," Peggy muttered, flipping the page of a book next to her.

Arturo. For three years they had been going out. Three years and he still hadn't proposed. Ivy often joked that the poor man was obviously a commitment-phobe, but Peggy knew the truth. She was distant and almost shrewish with Arturo in public. And the second time they had slept together, Peggy had called out Ezio's name. So she told Arturo the truth – she loved another man, who was unavailable but she cared for Arturo. And she did. He was no where near the caliber of Ezio, but he was a sweet, honest guy. There wasn't much more Peggy could ask for.

Another hour passed and Peggy finally lifted herself from the bed, careful to not disturb her research, and got dressed. Arturo was supposed to meet her downstairs and they would go out to dinner together, before ending up at his apartment.

When Peggy got home hours later, she took a quick shower and then returned to her research.

Morning came too quickly that next day and Peggy could barely drag herself out from under the pile of books. The sunlight blinded her and she was fully aware of the fact that she would not be able to fall back asleep. So, she rose silently so as not to disturb Ivy in the other room, and got dressed.

Before leaving she pulled her hair back and took a good look at herself in the mirror… something she had avoided for so long. She had insisted on keeping her hair long, only getting it trimmed every so often and she had added bangs to frame her face. Hours spent in doors, slaving over books had given her back the pale complexion she had lost and made her freckles stand out all the more. Hours spent awake, both night and day, had left bags under her eyes. Would Ezio even be able to recognize her?

Swiping a hand down one side of her face, she tried to wake herself up. Maybe a morning run would do her some good. Ipod in hand, she left and jogged around Rome. The sun was just coming up when she passed St. Peters Cathedral.

There were many things that held her attention without a doubt. There were many things that caught her eye and kept her planted where she stood. And almost daily, St. Peters managed to do that to her. She paused her running and walked towards the huge Cathedral.

As she made her approach, the Obelisk greeted her… that tall pillar that made her crane her neck just to see it. Walking slowly, she shielded her eyes with her hand so that she could look up at the cross. With the sun shining behind it, she could almost believe in God the whole imagine was just that majestic.

Then she stopped and sighed, realizing she had work soon… or at the very least a pile of books that wouldn't read themselves. Dropping her hand, she gave the courtyard one last glance –

And then Peggy stopped breathing.

That hadn't been there before, she realized.

And without thinking her legs took her forward again. A glint, a glint of gold right under the Obelisk.

It wasn't an Apple… not circular. One long vertical staff with three horizontal pieces in the shape of a cross hovered just under the Obelisk, glittering in the sunlight.

A staff, she realized.

Peggy had never looked for a staff; it was always the Apple, that damn forsaken Apple of Eden.

Yet, here it was, another Piece of Eden, sitting in wait for someone to find it… for her to find it. If it had a mouth it would be smirking at her.

She had started off sprinting towards the Staff, but as she got closer she slowed down. What if this wasn't what she thought it was? What if it took her, not back to Ezio but somewhere else entirely? And then another thought entered her mind: wasn't the risk worth the reward? So what if she got stuck somewhere else? So long as it might get her back to Ezio, that was all that mattered.

Briefly Peggy gave a mental goodbye to her parents, her brothers, Arturo and even the tolerable Ivy. Then she grasped the Staff and closed her eyes.

* * *

If Margherita expected to wake up in the company of all her loved ones, she was sadly disappointed. What met her when she finally opened her eyes was the cold floor of Leonardo's workshop. And if the lack of fire in the hearth was any indication, she was alone. In fact, as she sat up and glanced around the workshop, it looked as though no one had been there in ages.

All the inventions were packed away and the workshop was totally bare for the first time since she had lived with Leonardo.

Slowly, she pushed herself up and called out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"

When she was greeted with silence, she glanced down at herself – yes, she was in the linen nightgown she had been in when she had first left. Quickly, she brought her palm up to her face… and staring back at her was her scar.

Margherita could have cried.

In the beginning it was a symbol of her shame, her mistakes and her cowardice. It was something that she hid and ignored. But when she was back in her time period, all she could think about was that that mark was missing… that mark that showed the lessons she had learned and the experiences she had had. It was a symbol of the life she wanted to return to.

And now, it marked her once again.

Without much thought, she sprinted up to her room. Yes, Leonardo may have left but it seemed he still used this place as a residence, and had left her room untouched. In her chest, she found her dresses and slipped into one. Braiding her long, bang-less hair, she explored her home.

Despite the bare outer appearance, it seemed Leonardo was simply taking an extended vacation – most of basic necessities were still there, but nothing of value to be stolen in his absence. Margherita left through the front door and was greeted by the Renaissance street.

She was home.

"Ah, Margherita! Long time, no see!"

Margherita twisted to face the voice that greeted her. One of Leonardo's old students… Valente. He was a tall, lanky man and when he had worked under Leonardo, Margherita had been almost certain he had a crush on the genius. Leonardo hadn't truly returned the feelings, but the kid was still one of his favorite students. Maybe he would know where that artist had gone.

"Ah… yes," Margherita replied, trying her best to smile. "It has been a while. I was actually just looking for Leonardo…"

"Oh, did your paths not cross?"

"Cross?"

"Well, yes. He went to the Auditore Villa. And all of Venice knows that you have been staying at the Villa these past few years. Leonardo explained that you two had a bit of a falling out, which I suppose is natural in the first years of marriage," Valente gave her a tense smile.

Oh. Yes. She was married to Leonardo. Right. Wow. That felt like ages ago. And it was… a full decade ago.

Margherita tried to return the smile before she said her goodbyes and returned to the workshop.

Alright, so Ezio must have come up for an excuse for her absence and that was that she was at the Auditore Villa. If Leonardo had gone there to visit, he must know she wasn't really there… meaning Ezio must have explained everything to the young artist. Great. One less explanation off her shoulders.

Now, she needed a way to get to the Villa.

After scouring the workshop, Margherita finally remembered the hidden stash of money they kept buried in the courtyard. Pulling the box from the dirt, she wiped the lid off and opened it. Good. That was more than enough florins to get her from point A to point B. She quickly packed her things and went to the edge of the city to hire a carriage.

* * *

The boat docked in Forli and Margherita couldn't be more excited. At least last time she had made the journey, she had had Leonardo and Ezio to keep her company and at least distract her from the seasickness. Now, she was all alone on the sea and she was miserable. This time, she didn't go so far as to kiss the solid ground, but she definitely walked a little straighter as she looked for another carriage rider to get her from Forli to Monteriggioni.

When she did find someone, he informed her that he could leave tomorrow afternoon and that she would have to wait till then. Alright then.

Margherita booked herself a night at the local inn (the same one her threesome had stayed in way back when) and settled herself in for the rest of the day… until her stomach growled. Food, it was then. So she left the confines of her room and went looking for the local bakery.

* * *

"Pouting will do nothing, Ezio," Caterina Sforza scolded as she grasped Ezio's arm.

"I am not pouting." Ezio frowned and pulled away. He stalked to the plush couch and sat himself down.

"Yes you are. So you weren't able to get that Codex page – it will turn up eventually."

"You don't understand!" Ezio raised his voice. "A Templar ran away with my Codex page! I have no idea where he went and I need that page!"

Chuckling, Caterina crossed the room and placed both her hands on his shoulders. "See, you are pouting." She leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Calm yourself, Ezio. Perhaps a warm bath will do you well."

Ezio twisted his head and made eye-contact and was sorely tempted to take her up on that offer and all the innuendo it entailed. Finally, he shook his head and stood up.

"Fine, then get some rest; you're leaving early tomorrow aren't you? The sun will set soon…"

"No, I have to find that page." And with that the robed assassin left.

* * *

Margherita was in the middle of market, biting into a lovely pastry when she realized the sun was nearly set. If there was one thing that had been taught to her again and again it was that no creature with a vagina was safe after dark. Not alone. And this applied to both the future and the past. So, she stuffed the rest of the pastry into her mouth and took of towards her hotel.

She wasn't even halfway there when the sun fully disappeared.

"Shit," she cursed. And picked up her pace.

The streets were no longer crowded, the sensible people having retreated to their own houses long before the roads became dangerous. She really should have known better and the fact that she forgot and let the time get away from her was just stupid.

Finally, she turned a corner… and immediately backtracked.

A lone guard had gotten into a squabble with a gaggle of thieves. Apparently the altercation had gotten out of control and then escalated to violence. In that single moment of glancing around the corner, Margherita couldn't tell the finer details but there was especially an aura of discord and danger and the scent of a place she shouldn't be.

Margherita was just about to turn and go the other way, when quick footfalls sounded behind her. Whoever it was, she didn't want to run into them. They were either more guards who would mistake her for a thief or more thieves who would mistake her for a victim.

Throwing herself behind a few boxes on the side of alley, she hid herself and allowed the reinforcements to pass. Yup, more guards.

She would have stood and left at that moment – but a guard was left to watch the corner to make sure no more thieves arrived. If she got up, she'd be seen.

Cursing, Margherita remained crouched until her thighs burned. Finally, finally, finally, the alley quieted down and the guards passed her hiding place. She took a deep breath and then held herself still. They were carrying the fallen guard and quickly shuffled pass her without noticing the lone observer.

With muted footfalls, she padded around the corner and took in the sight. The thieves were crumpled on the ground and there was blood everywhere. Momentarily, Margherita glanced back at the way she had come, wondering if she could just go that way, before realizing if she didn't go forward, she would be in even more danger. Wrapping a scarf around her head to hide her lighter hair and face – therefore making her more obvious, she moved forward.

She was halfway across the battlefield when something caught her eye…

After an entire decade of looking for anything gold – almost giving full-body twitches whenever something merely shiny caught her eye, she was well adapted to noticing the little golden details of things.

This was not golden, so much as it was shiny.

So, Margherita reached down and picked it up. It was… a Codex page.

Frowning, she stowed the page in the folds of her dress and hurried away, puzzling over why a guard had gotten his hands on a Codex page.

* * *

When Ezio finally tracked down the Templar that took his Codex page, he was elated to find that a couple of thieves had cornered him already. Ezio sat back, and let them do the work. It was easier to bribe thieves (especially if they were friends of Antonio's) than fight Templars. It wasn't until the reinforcements showed up that Ezio left, scouting around to make sure that no one else would intrude on the battle.

When Ezio finally returned, all the thieves had been defeated and the Templars gone. A lone figure stood, surveying the damage. A female, Ezio could tell from the body shape, as the face was covered. When she bent and grabbed the abandoned Codex page, the assassin gave a muted curse.

He couldn't very well confront her here, now. The bodies would draw attention. And he couldn't very well pickpocket her when she was absolutely alone. He also really didn't want to beat a girl up.

So, Ezio followed the girl. He followed her all the way to the local inn. A foreigner.

"Damn it," Ezio cursed.

* * *

When Margherita got to her room, she opened the Codex page. It was a picture of a woman. Maria, she realized. Altair had drawn her and apparently included her in the Codex. Okay, nothing too useful. Closing it up, she stowed it with the rest of her bags and blew out her candle. After that night's excitement, she really needed sleep.

And sleep was quick to come to her. She closed her eyes and was out.

…In some haze she noted that there was someone in the room with her… shuffling through her things…

And suddenly she was awake. Gasping, she realized that someone had broken into her room and was attempting to silently find something amid her stuff. Later, she would wonder why she was so quick to recognize the foreign presence, but for now she was focused on the intruder.

The same intruder who had realized she was awake.

He turned and was across the room before she could scream. Instead, his hands went to cover her mouth and silence her frantic response.

"Shhh," he soothed. "I'm looking for something you took from that little fight a while ago. Where is it?"

Maybe it was because she had spent years looking at that hooded attire, or maybe it was because she had spent years listening to that voice… but either way, she knew it was Ezio.

She could have laughed. In her head, she would have arrived at Monteriggioni and he would have met her on those stairs and kissed her senseless. Instead, he had broken into her room unawares, and had scared her senseless.

"I'm going to move my hand and you're going to tell me where it is, okay?" Ezio said, and he slowly retracted his hand.

Margherita didn't scream. She simply whispered the sentence echoing in her mind, "Ezio… How long have you been growing that beard? It looks too thick to be your normal growth when you get too lazy to shave it."

Not exactly the best thing to say to your long lost lover when you first meet, but it was the best way to sum up their relationship.

He tensed above her. "Do I – do I know you?" he sputtered. Without giving her a chance to answer, he simply adjusted her so that the moonlight lit up her face. Ezio pulled away immediately, falling off the bed and on to the floor.

Margherita sat up to follow him with her eyes.

"Mar…" he couldn't even finish. "I thought you were gone…"

Climbing off the bed, she came to kneel beside him. "I didn't. I waited for almost ten years, tried to get on with my life and failed. And I searched for that stupid Apple. Searched, and searched. And I finally found a way back. I was just on my way to Monteriggioni…"

She would have continued, had he not grabbed her and crushed her against his armor.

Happiness overwhelmed her momentarily and she nuzzled into his armored chest. God, she was home. Feverishly, he pressed kisses to her hairline and tightened his grip on her, dragging his fingers up and down her spine. Her ribs protested but instead of a yelp, she gave a low sigh, as though all her worries were leaving her body.

Finally, Ezio pulled back and cupped her face, almost as though he couldn't believe she was really here in the flesh. She missed the warmth of his arms around her, but the opportunity to look into his eyes, see his face after so many years apart, was simply priceless.

Then, his face dropped. "I'm sorry I left you," he whispered as though he was afraid that a sound any louder would break the moment.

Her own face darkened. Yes, Margherita hadn't forgotten about that. She didn't yell, she didn't scold or scowl. She barely frowned too deeply in fact. Instead, she simply grabbed his wrists loosely, to push his hands harder against her cheeks and she whispered, "I could throw a fit, if I wanted to. But I don't want to waste the energy or ruin the moment." She smiled, "It's kind of like a mother who finds her lost child and is torn between hugging him or killing him – in the end she's just happy to have him back, even if he was stupid enough to go wandering off."

Ezio grinned at her explanation and brought her face down to kiss first her forehead, then each of her eyelids, both of her cheeks, her chin and finally her lips. When he slid his tongue out to graze her bottom lip, his hands down to grip her waist and slide her closer to him.

She moaned against him.

There was something to be said about being intimate with Ezio. True, Arturo had been a decent lover, but there was nothing more satisfying than being with the one person you know inside and out. And as his hand slid up to cup her breast, she realized not much had changed. She was home.

In the same way that Arturo had been gentle, Ezio was rough. In the same way Arturo had taken her lead because she was more experienced, Ezio was domineering. In the same way that Arturo had touched her body, Ezio touched her soul.

And dear Lord, she was _home._

* * *

The sun was beating against her closed eyelids, but Margherita refused to open her eyes and adjust her body out of the range of the sun.

In her dreams, Ivy had shaken her awake to hand her the phone. Arturo had called her, to break up with her because he had found out that she cheated on him with a character from a videogame. And Margherita had questioned how he knew that her past lover had been from a videogame, as she had never told him anything of the sort. Then, Margherita dreamt that she awoke in her bed, in her apartment, alone and it was all a dream.

So now, she refused to open her eyes to figure out if it was all really just a dream.

"Why are you crying?" asked a raspy voice somewhere to the left of her.

When all she did was clench her eyes tighter, whoever was next to her (don't let it be Arturo, don't let it be Ivy – dear God, she wanted it to be Ezio so bad) shifted and brushed the tears aside, trailing his fingers down her cheeks to tickle her chin. In response, she snuggled closer.

"Why are you crying, Margherita? What's wrong?" he repeated.

"I dreamt this wasn't real," she whispered.

"Margherita," he lowered his voice to match her volume and brought his face to brush his nose against her ear. As his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, he suddenly spoke at his normal volume, "You're being a sap," he scowled.

Her eyes fluttered open instantly. She wasn't sure what made her so certain this wasn't a dream: the fact that he was stretched out against her, or the fact that only he would say something like that. Her subconscious was tender with her, Ezio was not. Ezio would only coddle her if he felt she really needed it.

Regardless, he continued to clean her face. It seemed in her sleep, she had begun to cry from the nightmare. Sniffling, she buried her head deeper into his shoulder.

Soon, she would need to meet with her carriage driver. Soon, they would need to figure out what they were going to do and where they were going to go from there. Soon, she would reunite with Leonardo and deal with all that shit. Soon, the life of an assassin and his lover waiting at the window would return.

But for now, she was home.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: This is really, really short in comparison to some of my other chapters, but there's really only so much to say. And I'm terribly, terribly late. I know. I have no excuses. School is winding down, I'm moving on to bigger and better things in my life, the Italian boy I used to flirt with in math class (who was kinda an inspiration in this story) suddenly became terribly disinteresting and my attention was returned to my original (and not Italian) boy-toy. So, in conclusion, I apologize.**

**Yes, it's the last chapter. I am uncertain about a sequel at this point. A continuation of this story would probably involve Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, which I have not played yet, so that's kind of up in the air. We'll see. Check back in a few months. If anything, I might hit another fandom (I've been dying to do another Naruto fanfic forever, seeing as my original one was absolutely Mary-Sue.) Once again, we'll see. We'll see. We'll see.**

**Last thing: I just wanted to thank everyone who's read and everyone who's reviewed. Your feedback has meant the world to me and I hope you enjoy this final chapter.**

* * *

A Bunch of Hot Air

By: Ginny

* * *

"Move over," Claudia commanded in hushed tones, "your ass is too big to fit."

Margherita took a moment to feel offended, before she exacted her revenge in the form of pushing Claudia over a little. The two were squished against the wall just a ways off from the railing overlooking Mario's study. Ezio was meeting with the other assassin's, having returned from collecting all the Codex pages two weeks prior. In that time, the other assassin's had traveled to the Auditore Villa to discuss what they would do next.

As it was, they couldn't hear anything. There was the normal pitch of voices sounding in the room below but nothing they could make out with any certainty. Finally, everything went quiet and the shuffling of bodies moving and departing could be heard.

Claudia and Margherita made eye-contact and slithered around the corner, trying to get closer to the railing.

"You are not as quiet as you think that you are," a voice rang out.

Before either girl could react, two quick steps and a single low _thump _against the wall right below the railing sounded and hands shot up to grasp the railing. With practiced ease, Ezio pulled himself up to squat on the railing like the creature Margherita sometimes thought he was. The assassin smirked at the startled girls. They scowled at him before Margherita moved to push him off the railing. He simply grabbed her wrists and pulled her close to him, between his legs.

"So," Claudia began, rolling her eyes momentarily at the display. "What's the plan?"

Ezio twisted Margherita around, to wrap his arms around her from behind, resting his head on her shoulder. He said, "I leave for Rome."

"Today?" Margherita asked, trying to turn around and see his expression.

"Today," he confirmed.

"You had better gut the Spaniard," Claudia all but growled. Damn, that girl was scary sometimes.

He retracted his hands from Margherita to jump down off the railing. Like a jungle cat, he stretched to his full height and tilted his head back a fraction of an inch. "I fully intend to," he proclaimed, his eyes flashing dangerously. A shiver found its way down Margherita's spine.

There was definitely time she felt like his prey – when night fell and she was stretched out on the bed he would crawl towards her with a look in his eye… it was a predatory glint in his irises but one that promised he would complete his mission to satisfy her absolutely. This look he wore now was one that promised bloodlust and the death of Borgia. And Margherita couldn't bring herself to feel any pity or mercy for that damned man. Not after what he had done to her and Sandra and the Auditore family and Ezio, her beloved Ezio.

* * *

He was a light packer – an extra shirt, tons of weapons, some medicine and a small satchel of bread that Claudia had nearly forced him to pack.

From the bed she was perched on, Margherita watched him meticulously gather each item and organize them on the bed. Then, one by one he inspected his weapons and picked at any rust or blood he might have missed when cleaning them yesterday. After that he would give them their own little place on his person before he would check and recheck their position. It was as though he was trying to remember where they were through touch alone.

A knock sounded at their bedroom door.

After their chance meeting in Forli, Ezio had taken the time to escort her back to the Auditore Villa where she was greeted by a teary-eyed Leonardo who had exclaimed, "God, you haven't aged a day!"

And in truth, she hadn't. Despite having lived a near forty years, her body was that of a twenty-nine year old. She often referred to Ezio, who was a little younger that forty, as "The Old Man". He called her "Little Slut". It all evened out.

Hugs had been passed around to each member of the Auditore family upon her arrival and finally she had been totally stolen by Leonardo. Apparently, Ezio had told him about the whole "past-future-realm" thing and so he had tons of questions. After she had evaded most of the questions soundly, she simply told him that he was really famous during her time and that he shouldn't ask anymore questions, lest it change the future. Leonardo had nodded serenely and moved on.

Ezio had stayed a full two weeks after escorting her back. The two used it as a mini-honeymoon. Margherita didn't stay in her husband's room, she moved in to Ezio's room with no complaints and very little words exchanged. It was as though both accepted that their lives were so intertwined that any separation was unwanted. In those two weeks, they made up for all the lost time in the bedroom.

Then, the assassin had needed to get back to business. So, he left for a solid month and a half. And then he was back. And now he was leaving again.

"Come in," Ezio called out.

Leonardo peeked his head around the door. "When are you leaving?"

"Today," Margherita answered for him.

Frowning, the artist fully entered the room. He crossed over to Ezio and threw his arms around the younger man. Leonardo muttered, "Good luck, my friend."

"Thank you," Ezio responded, giving the inventor a solid pat on the back.

Leonardo pulled back, nodded sharply and left.

Ezio watched him go before turning to Margherita. "Why is he acting like I'm going to my death?"

"It's a dangerous assassination," Margherita explained.

Shaking his head, he said, "I'll be fine," and he returned to his meticulous checking and rechecking. Suddenly, he stopped, looked up at her, wide-eyed. "I _will _be fine, right?"

Margherita just smiled and flopped back down on the bed, "You're a competent fighter, Ezio," she spoke to the ceiling. "I'm certain you'll be fine."

Ezio let out a low sigh. "After this," he began, "it's all over." He placed his last throwing knife into its holster and slouched his shoulders. Recognizing his "brooding" face, Margherita pushed herself up and off the bed. She crossed the room to him.

With a soft smile, she pulled his hood up, dragging her fingertips down his face in careful caresses.

He had kept the beard, not that she minded all that much. It suited him, she decided. Twenty some years ago he had been a carefree young man – barely out of boyhood and she remembered the bright look in his eyes, the youthful smile that split his face in two. Being clean-shaven had suited him then. Now… well, now they had grown up – both of them. She had taken to wearing higher-cut bodices and he had kept his beard.

Margherita stood up on her tippy toes to kiss him when he pulled back. She allowed herself one moment for the hurt to flash across her face before she schooled her expression into a more neutral expression.

Her disappointment didn't last long.

"When I come back," Ezio said, "I think we should get married."

Margherita blinked. Ezio, the notorious bachelor was – what was he doing? Proposing? Stating the intent to marry? Demanding that it happen?

He took her shock as hesitation. "Assuming you want to, of course," he concluded.

Maybe he saw something on her face – maybe the way her eyebrows shot up and then together in a confused expression told him something, maybe the way her fingers clenched around his shoulders spoke to him about something or maybe it was the way her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again that really screamed at him everything he needed to hear.

Ezio gently removed her hands from his shoulders as all the wind left his sails. He sighed, took a step back and away from her and then rechecked his weapons one more time.

Finally, he kissed her goodbye – a simple, chaste peck on the lips.

"Alright," Margherita murmured against his lips.

Ezio jerked away and stared down at her. Then a slow smile spread across his face. With the predatory nature he was infamous for, he bent slightly to press his lips against the shell of her ear.

"_What_ was that?" he whispered.

"I think it would be a good idea for us to get married when you get back from this assassination," she smirked and added, "Assuming you want to, of course."

Her punishment came in the form of Ezio taking her earlobe between his lips and sucking gently. She moaned and arched her back, silently commenting on how only he was able to do this to her – get her this riled up. And when he kissed her gingerly across her chin to finish at her lips and then pulled back – a total retraction, she mentally commented on how only he could tease her like this, rile her up like this and then leave her hanging to go off on his own little adventures.

Sighing softly, and trying to cover it up, she followed him out their bedroom door, down the stairs and into the main villa lobby. The rest of the household met them at the door and Ezio said goodbye to each of them, individually. After receiving her hug, Maria held onto Mario's arm and stood with firm lips, pursued in determination. Margherita assumed she must have had many episodes just like this when her husband was alive. Claudia tried and failed to not let the worry show on her face and found comfort in Margherita once Ezio released her. Leonardo came up behind the two of them and wrapped his arms around the both of them.

Margherita knew she should have felt worry – fear, some negative emotion at the sight of Ezio's retreating back, knowing full well that he was going off the kill the Spaniard, the Pope, the most important and well guarded person in all of Italy… maybe all of Europe. But, then again, she knew he survived. She knew he would come back to her – probably with questions about "Minerva" and probably unhappy that she couldn't tell him as much as he wanted her to.

And then there was the wedding to think about.

Looking around at the faces of her soon-to-be in-laws, she realized it was probably too soon to announce anything yet and she would prefer Ezio to be there – at least the shield her from the assault of hugs that would follow, probably from Mario. The tailor would have to wait until Claudia had calmed down. However… Margherita glanced back up at Leonardo, who was systematically rubbing her back, tracing her spine with his artistically experienced fingers.

As the group broke apart – Mario escorting Maria back to her room, Claudia finding solace in the garden and Leonardo heading to his impromptu workshop on the first floor, Margherita caught the inventor.

"Hey, Leonardo," Margherita grasped his wrist.

"Margherita, what do you need?" At her hesitation, Leonardo shifted his arm and took her hand in his. "If you are worried about Ezio, please don't be. I'm certain he'll be fine. In fact," the artist paused and tilted his head, "you would know that better than anyone… so, I suppose this isn't about that – unless," his eyes widened, "Unless, something _is_ going to happen to him, in which case…"

She chose this moment to put her free hand against his mouth and successfully shut him up. "No, Leonardo, he'll be fine. That's not the issue… It's that…" Her head dropped slightly at her loss for words.

Leonardo took this next hesitation to lift her head up, tucking a finger under her chin. "What is it, my dear? You know you can tell me anything… I _am_ your husband, you know…"

"That's actually what this is about…" Margherita gave her oldest friend a tender smile. "I want a divorce."

It took a moment for this to sink into his head. "You want… a divorce? From me?"

"Well, I'm only married to one man and that one man happens to be you… So, yes, Leonardo, dearest, oldest friend of mine, I would like a divorce from you."

The artist paused for a moment, long fingers coming to rest on his chin as he studied her face. "What brought this on?" he asked, thoughtfully.

Taking a small gulp, Margherita explained, "Ezio asked me to marry him."

The look on Leonardo's face immediately made her flinch. For all her narcissism and vanity and even though she was an absolute attention-whore, she still didn't like big fusses being made. Birthdays were always a terrible occurrence in which she would grab her plentiful gifts and hide in a corner until the well-wishers would leave. She had always assumed her wedding would be a little more tolerant. At least she would be able to hide behind Emily (who would of course be her maid-of-honor and keep the whole affair rational and down-to-earth, just like her personality). But here, in this realm, with these lovely people she had assumed that Leonardo would be her stand-in Emily and protect her from Claudia (and probably Mario).

There was so much overwhelming joy on his face that Margherita quickly realized he might actually be worse than Claudia.

Leonardo grabbed her hands and held them to his chest, "He asked you to marry him?" the artist squealed.

Flinching at the volume, Margherita would have mentally commented on just how… _gay_ Leonardo looked at that moment, but a higher-pitched voice broke in.

"Ezio asked you to marry him?"

The two friends turned towards the voice – it seemed Claudia had left the garden in favor of her room and stumbled upon the two at the threshold of the inventor's workshop… And suddenly Margherita's plan to keep things quiet until maybe Ezio came back fell apart at the seams. Damn it. Sighing, she could do nothing except nod.

"Oh!" Claudia bounced up next to them, and joined in the festivities. "We will need to get you to the tailor as soon as possible so he can make you a gorgeous wedding gown… I'd say you could use my mother's wedding gown – I'm sure she'd love for you to wear it, but it was left in Firenze with all our other clothes, way back when. And really, the color probably wouldn't have suited you – it was more of a forest green, and truly purple would do so much more for your coloring." She said this all in one breath and then let go of that train of thought for, "Wow, you know, it's about time! My brother truly knows how to procrastinate. Oh, I'm so excited!"

The sun might have glared off her straight teeth, she was smiling so wide. Well, Margherita supposed that maybe she had made a mistake in planning to keep it a secret – this was just the kind of distraction the girl needed to get her mind off the fact that her brother might not come back and be yet another victim of the Borgia.

"First things, first," Leonardo spoke up, turning the focus of the females back to him, "We're still married."

"Oh." Claudia let out in a dropped pitch.

"So, we get divorced," Margherita smiled up at her soon-to-be-not-husband.

"No," Claudia turned to the blonde, "It's not that simple. Divorce is forbidden by the Catholic Church and the Pope – however malicious the man in the robe is. You would have to get your marriage annulled."

"But," Leonardo began, "you would need to have cause to get the marriage annulled."

Margherita's breath caught – to annul the marriage would mean to say there was something wrong with the marriage, that they never should have been allowed to marry. That would mean saying something like, "Oh, yeah, Leonardo over here is gay, gay, gay and we only married so that he wouldn't get hanged. Now his best friend wants a piece of me so we need this little thing we got here, annulled. M'kay, thanks, bye." Which would put Leonardo back into the same position their marriage had saved him from. Was being legally attached to Ezio worth that much?

Leonardo seemed to see the expression on her face and what it meant. "We don't have to mention-" he glanced at Claudia and stopped short.

She scoffed and gave him a light slap on the bicep, "Oh, I know what you are," she didn't say this unkindly. "No need to be so shy. Just say she's barren or something and you want to be free of a woman who won't give you an heir."

Margherita kept herself from mentioning that that really hadn't worked even for the King of England and since the Reformation still hadn't started, there was really no way to pull off something like that. Even Leonardo didn't seem to be buying it.

"We might be able to say she's been unfaithful or something. I'll research it," he assured Margherita. "And I'll handle everything." He grinned at his friend, "Consider it an early wedding present."

"Oh!" Claudia jumped up slightly, clapping her hands, "Maybe mother will help plan the wedding feast – we can do everything here and all of Monteriggioni will attend! Even those stinking mercenaries…" The girl trailed off and bounced up the stairs, leaving the inventor and the blonde behind.

Sighing, Margherita swiped some of her hair back, "So, that works, just call me a slut. I'm certain Ezio will have endless fun with that."

Leonardo gave his head a little shake and continued to grin, "Oh, you know you enjoy the title."

* * *

Margherita was drifting in and out of consciousness one morning, a few months later. She would trip up to the bounds of sleep and then trip right back. Sighing into her pillow, she let her entire body relax before she rolled over into a tight ball. The bed was cold, but she was too lazy to get up and stoke the fire. And Ezio wasn't there to keep her warm, so she knew she'd just have to make do.

Finally, she rolled over onto her back – and nearly jumped out of her skin. A small yelp even managed to slip out of her mouth but was lost as a smile stretched across her face. Jumping up, she was across the room in enough time for Ezio to catch her.

Laughing, she let herself be swung around.

"I see you missed me, you little slut," Ezio commented when he finally put her down.

"You are late, old man" she complained, yanking him down to kiss him.

"I had to speak with the other assassins first," he murmured between her kisses. "They are not pleased."

She pulled back, "Why?"

Ezio lifted an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you know?"

It took her a moment, but suddenly her mouth dropped open, "Oh."

"It wouldn't have brought them back," Ezio concluded, squeezing her a little bit. "I realized that. The violence has gone on long enough, somewhere someone had to stop it and I chose to stop it with me – here, before it extended on till the end of time."

Margherita pushed his hood back down till it rested on his shoulders and then she stroked his beard, bringing her caressing fingers down to his lips. "The battle between assassin and templar will still continue on, you realize that, don't you?"

"There will always be animosity between the groups," he caught her hands and pressed them harder against his face, "but that is a battle for another day." He smiled goofishly, "For now, I intend to settle down and make an honest man of myself – assuming you haven't changed your mind about marrying me."

Throwing her head back, Margherita let out a bark of a laugh, "Ezio, you couldn't be an honest man if you tried!" Soberly slightly, she added, "Being an assassin is in your blood and it's not something you'll be able to ignore for too long."

Pulling her hands away from his face, Ezio instead wrapped his arms around Margherita's middle and pressed her against his torso. He bent to litter kisses on her cheeks, nose and mouth, "You will jinx it," he whispered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered back, lightly. "In that case, I will never speak of this again. I will make good on my agreement all those months ago, and marry you and bear you many children –"

"Children?" Ezio inquired, pulling back to get a look at her face.

"Children," Margherita repeated.

"Hm, yes," Ezio looked thoughtful. "That is typically what follows marriage, is it not? Children, it is," he nodded decisively and resumed his feather-light kisses on her collarbone. Margherita tilted her head to give him better access.

"Now, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted – marriage, children… hm. Oh! Yes, and then we will live the remainder of our lives here at the Villa and die together of old age as we watch our grandchildren play in the garden."

"You know," Ezio commented, "even when you say it like that, it still sounds like you're jinxing it."

"Hm," she moaned as his lips found the upper curve of her breast, "yes, perhaps it's best we just stop talking all together."

"I agree," he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her up to allow her to wrap her legs around his hips. Carrying her back to bed, he laid her down gently and hovered over her lips a moment. "Perhaps we should stop talking about it, and actually get working on it."

Just as his fingers found the bottom of her nightdress, she let out a little giggle, "Sounds like a plan."

Margherita stretched out, lifting her hands above her head. As Ezio found a particularly sensitive piece of flesh to tickle, her back arched and she squeezed her eyes shut. When he moved on, she finally opened them again and suddenlyl her right hand caught her gaze.

The moonlight had found its way into the room and bathed the bed in silver glow. Under this dim illumination, the light pink scarring on her opened palm was invisible against her already pale skin. It was like it had never been there to begin with.

Without hesitation, she sat up a bit and took that same hand and cupped Ezio's cheek with it.

He paused at her gentle touch, confused. Then he saw the soft curve of a smile on her face.

"To letting go of the past," Margherita whispered.

"And to a hopeful future," Ezio replied.

* * *

_Fin._


	23. Announcement

**To Whom It May Concern,**

**The sequel is written and up and waiting to be read by your undoubtedly very eager eyes.**

**Sincerely,**

**Ginny**

* * *

_Also, here is a sneak-peak because sometimes I'm nice:_

* * *

"I like the beard," Caterina commented. Sweet, merciful God in heaven – even her voice was cultured.

Like a halfwit, it took a second for Margherita to realize that the countess was talking to her. "Uh, yes," she replied. "He got too lazy to shave and so he just stopped."

Apparently Caterina didn't expect her to know his exact motives because her perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up and her red lips parted to form an "O". "Do you work here in the Villa?" she asked. The way her eyes drifted up and down along Margherita's body spoke volumes: the noblewoman was under the impression that Margherita was the kind of maid that earned a few extra florins by paying special attention to her master.

Margherita kept the scoff she oh, so, desperately wanted to release to herself and instead simply shook her head. Opening her mouth would have been like opening the gates of Hell and releasing the three headed dog that might just gobble Caterina up in one gulp.


End file.
